


A Sandlady By Any Other Name

by wildair7



Series: Sandlady Sagas [2]
Category: Logan's Run (1976), Logan's Run Series - William F. Nolan & George Clayton Johnson
Genre: F/M, Logan's Run, Sandlady, Sandman Sentinel, United Sandmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: Unaware of her true origins, the young woman, known as Vera 4, is unlike other women of the City of Domes. She is DS, the only female so permitted, besides her father, Francis 7's pairmate Vera 3, but is still a virgin--a condition rare in that time and place. The love of her life, she believes, is Logan, except she spurns him at the last moment and discovers where her heart truly lies. This relationship leads her into a dire set of circumstances which challenge her previous conceptions, as well as her mental and emotional strengths.





	1. Chapter One

**“A Sandlady by Any Other Name”**

**by**

**Janelle Holmes**

**Chapter One**

     Many years after the Great Calamity, the city, now New City, returned to normalcy, with one possible exception: forevermore, the city’s Sandmen, the DS elite and their trainees, and therefore, the New City and its Citizens, would be governed by a Primary—the DS trainee, who, in his last year of training terminated the most Runners. As a reward, this trainee became Primary Sandman for one year’s time. New City’s First Primary faced a grave decision. With Carrousel reinstated and the Nursery brood now grown, there were no more small children—cells taken after the Great Calamity having proved infertile. Another alternative had to be found. At last, this problem was resolved, and New City continued with all its pleasures and vices.

YEAR OF NEW CITY 2295

     Their patrol was just ending as the Sandmen, black-clothed harbingers of death, passed the Arcade Hand, slowly easing their way past the brightly-garbed Citizens of New City. The female member of the twosome’s face was set in lines of adamancy, while the young man’s was calm and serene, as always, above the three-quarter sleeved tunic he wore with green tights as a DS trainee.  
     “I’m not going, Ballard, and that’s that,” the woman said for what had to be the fifth or sixth time that day.  
     The young man smoothed his thick mat of white-blond hair into place then looked at his companion. “Why are you so set against going to the party, Vera?” A slight smile teased his lips as he noticed her gray eyes cloud with green. “Ah, so that’s it,” he remarked.  
     Her head jerked up to face him. “What’s what?”  
     “You’re afraid. All the Sandmen will be there, and you’re afraid.”  
     “I’ve never been afraid of anything,” she snapped, turning her head forward again.  
     “Nothing but Logan Six.”  
     She ignored this, and they continued down the mall under the flood of light onto the second level. Finally, as they neared the mazecars, Vera said, “I’m not afraid of Logan.”  
     “Then go to the party.”  
     “Maybe I will, just to prove something to you.” She hissed this last and slipped into a stopping car.  
     Ballard moved in beside her and said, “Quad B,” then turned to Vera. “What do you have to prove...that you’re just as cold and unfathomable as they say, or can you enjoy yourself without endangering your precious personal values?”  
     She refused to answer, so he continued. “You’re the talk of New City, you know, nearly Red and still—“  
     Vera cut in, “You say it and I’ll never speak to you again.” She passed a black-sleeved arm across her eyes. “I expected a little compassion from you—my own brother—but you’re just as cruel as the rest of them. I don’t see why everyone thinks sex is so great anyway. It’s so...primitive.”  
     Ballard closed his blond-lashed, sea-green eyes and sighed. He’d considered a comeback to her comments but thought better of it. Anything else he’d say would only make her decide against going.

     The Sandmen, still in their DS uniforms, some trainees in green tights, lounged around the living unit in Quad B, when their discussion turned to a favorite topic. Cooper Four was the initiator.  
     “Think she’ll come?”  
     In a body, the others surrounded him. “You mean Vera Four?” one said.  
     “Is there another Sandlady?” Logan Six remarked. Then he smiled wickedly. “If she does come, I think it’s time we found out.”  
     “Come on,” Cooper interjected, “how can she be, going on Red?”  
     Logan leaned forward, confidentially, the slender glass in his hand hugged tightly against his chest. “Have any of you had her?”  
     They looked from one to the other of their group, all shaking their heads then turned to the brown-haired Logan.  
     “Possibly some citizen,” Cooper said.  
     Logan straightened. “Get serious. She won’t even associate with Citizens, much less have sex with them. I’ve watched her,” he said, half-whispering as he crossed the room. “After duty, she goes straight to her unit. No outside activities and no deliveries made. And no Circuit use, either. I checked Computer on that. She doesn’t even talk to anyone but Ballard or other Sandmen during patrol, and Ballard’s the only man who’s been inside her unit, too.” Logan started back to the entranced men. “So, gentlemen, I’ve devised a little entertainment for our beloved comrade, with myself as her host.”  
     “If anyone can do it, Logan, you can,” Cooper said. “But will Ballard cooperate?”  
     “If he doesn’t know what’s going on he will.” Logan winked.  
     During this, a single DS operative had sat across from the group on another side of the room, sipping his drink and listening, while mildly amused at the others Master Plan for seducing the Sandlady. He could’ve told them Vera was no ordinary Green, even if she was an operative, much less gullible enough for Logan, or any man, to show her the way. But they wouldn’t have listened or believed him. True, a person like her was practically an obscenity in a society like this, where sex was considered one of the highest of high, next to the final thrill of Flameout, of course. But Vera was unique in her rebellion against the mores of the New City...beautifully unique.  
Just then, the door slid open and Ballard and his sister walked in as an unnatural smile brightened her face. After that, it was only seconds before Cooper grabbed Ballard’s arm and had engaged him in a heated discussion of Computer’s latest functions.  
     Logan saw his chance and moved in, noticing Vera’s faint recoil. His arm about her slender waist, he guided her to the glass wall of the living unit, feeling her body’s tension under his arm’s contracted muscles. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured in her ear.  
     “If one regards anything so inhuman as beautiful.”  
     As Logan felt her body gradually relaxing but spasmodically shuttering, he said, “You’re certainly beautiful tonight,” with his pale eyes resting on her shiny black hair.  
     “I look as I always do.”  
     “No,” he said, as if the word was a revelation. “No, you’re different tonight. You seem distant...otherworldly. That’s what I love about you, Vera. You’re so different, so...superior to other females. You make a man mad with wanting you.”  
     She scarcely knew when his mouth covered hers and a warm tingling sensation spread from her breasts downward. But it seemed as if she’d willed this moment to be. His tongue flicked over her teeth and caressed her tongue once then withdrew, ending the kiss.  
     And now, as she looked up at Logan, Vera felt his body press against hers. Suddenly, they were in the sleeproom, and he kissed her again, caressing her hips and drawing her closer against him, as he smiled into her hair. “Vera, Vera!”  
     “Oh, Logan,” she said with a sigh. “I thought you didn’t know I existed as a woman.”  
     His breathing ragged but controlled, he said, “A man would be blind not to notice you.” He kissed her ear, running his tongue around its rim and encircling the lobe. Vera’s head lolled back, obviously reveling in his touch and embrace. Then, as she ran her hands over his back, he hid his face in her gently curving hair and softly said, “I want sex with you, Vera.”  
     At his words, the motion of her hands ceased, and she pulled away. “No, Logan, I can’t.”  
     He grinned. “Why? You like me, don’t you?”  
     She shook her head, violently. “I just can’t, I-I-I’m—“  
     Logan held her close again. “Then come on. It’s no big deal.”  
     Vera pulled away once more, bringing her knee suddenly up which caused Logan to double over in pain as she ran from the room.

     The obviously emotional form of Vera fleeing through the crowd of DS men was hardly anticipated. One Sandman frowned, another—a trainee—turned from a discussion in stark terror as the crying woman brushed past him. The others merely smiled or laughed.  
     As Cooper held Ballard back from following her, the trainee turned on the older man, his thick eyebrows dipping low over his piercing eyes. “What happened to her?” They all turned to the Sleeproom door and Logan struggling to it, one hand still clutching his area of discomfort, the other adjusting his tunic.  
     “Gentlemen,” he announced through pain-clenched teeth, “either the lady is a virgin, or she finds me singularly unattractive.”  
     Suppressing an urge to smash the operative’s face, Ballard jerked rudely from Cooper’s grasp then raced through the living unit door and onto the balcony.  
There, he frantically looked in all directions, to the floor below, the south corridor, and down the subdued light which led to the mazetubes. But there was no sign of a black uniform. He’d been told there’d be moments like this, when his rage would defy all logical attempts at sanity, and knew it must be suppressed.

     Vera had gone the quickest route to what, for her, was only her sanctuary—her own living unit. And, as the door closed behind her, she’d sighed in relief, glad to be physically absent from Logan’s tempting arms. Swallowing hard, she crossed to the U-shaped couch and threw herself across it.  
     “Why?” she whispered. “Why? I’ve been infatuated with him ever since I turned Green, and now when he starts paying attention to me, I freeze up. He probably thinks I’m a tease or a child in a woman’s body...or worse.” On her feet again, she paced the room. “I’ve got to find out about myself.” Then suddenly she stopped. “The Circuit, I’ll put myself on the Circuit and get it over with. Then I can go back to Logan and—“  
     Vera reached into a deep crevice of the couch and withdrew a plastic card labelled CIRCUIT CATALOG—FEMALE and placed it into the viewer on the table beside her. One by one, she rejected various costumes, until finding one she was positive would insure her success this night.  
     The numbers punched into the Processor panel, the costume flowed from its slot seconds later, all glistening black gauze. A thin silver border of gray ribbon edged the hem of the garment, which plunged in wide V’s front and back to a snakerope of silver about the waist and left the sides open under the floating, sheer black butterfly sleeves. Yes, it would do nicely.  
     Forbidden to wear anything other than gray-trimmed black, which marked them as full operatives, regardless of where she went, no matter the hour or place, Vera wondered if she’d be recognized by the color of her garment on the way to Circuit Shop. If so, anyone would know who she was, since there was only one Sandlady, then snicker. (A Sandlady going on Circuit to obtain a lover? How ludicrous.) But how could she get there unnoticed? Recalling a back entrance, there’d still be fifty meters to the mazecar which would take her there. Her one consolation was, once inside, she could enjoy anonymity. No one on Circuit saw another—not even the attendants.  
A cloak, would that work? She had one somewhere, now only to find it.

     By the time Ballard reached Vera’s unit, it was empty of her presence. Where else could she have gone, he didn’t know. No one he’d questioned in the Quad had seen her...or would admit to seeing her. She could be visiting one of the old girlfriends she dropped since ending her training years...or could be anywhere.

     The process of placing oneself on Circuit was quite simple. You entered the Shop, decided whether to “stay” or “go out” and told this to the Computer, including how long you’d be available then entered a tube. The rest was decided by the Other Side of the Circuit.  
     After waiting quite a while, Vera felt her body grow lighter, a sensation of spreading wider until a face appeared in front her, as semi-transparent as hers must seem to him. This one, however, seemed familiar, gentle, and then she suddenly stood before him, as he held out his hand and gallantly assisted her from the portal.  
When she viewed his attire, Vera’s heart leapt into her throat, for he wore all black, Sandman black, this time in the form of a velverobe. His hair was the color of glitter-sand around the sparkle pools and his eyes were like green fire-glass. He was tall, nearly two meters, by far the tallest of the Sandmen, and his hand was warm where hers still rested within it, as he covered it with his other and brought her closer.  
     “Had a feeling you’d do something like this, after what Logan tried.”  
     Vera’s eyes grew wider. “You were there?”  
     He nodded. “But swear I had nothing to do with their actions. It was a cruel thing to do.”  
     “Jonathan,” Vera said, “I’ve acted like a child in the past, and Logan only made me realize it’s time I became a woman.”  
     “You are a woman, Vera, and each woman should decide what she does or doesn’t do with her body. You’ve only lived by what you believe.”  
     “Yet I’ve placed myself on the Circuit for the same reason anyone does, Jonathan. Will you have sex with me or not?”  
     “If you’re determined, I suppose it’s better for it to be me than some other. You’re sure this is what you want?”  
     “I’m sure.” Vera reclaimed her hand and headed for the sleeproom, but he grabbed her by the waist and brought her back.  
     “You’re not ready for that.”  
     “Of course I’m ready. There’s nothing to it.”  
     “There’s a lot to it. Maybe other men would let you march off to martyrdom, but I’m not them.” His right hand glided through her thick dark hair and guided her mouth to his. This kiss was entirely different from Logan’s—as different as fire was from water. The sensations were different, too—a pulsating glow which filled her being and left her half-conscious. When her snakerope dropped to the floor and she felt the fabric of the short tunic fall away from her, Vera was next aware of Jonathan pressing her body against his. Then, too soon, he held her away and looked into her eyes.  
     “Am I ready now?” she whispered weakly.  
     “A few more moments.” Now his hands rested momentarily on her shoulders before gently edging down the mistsilk. And, with the shiny black gauze floating to the floor, he lifted her into his strong arms and cradled her against his broad chest.  
     “Now you’re almost ready,” he said. Carrying her into the sleeproom, Jonathan placed Vera on the bed then removed his velverobe.  
     Aware of little else than the warmth of this man’s body, as he resumed what began in the other room, she felt him move his lips to the hollow of her throat and then to the cleavage of her breasts, as his hands did what they pleased, as gently as his kisses, undemanding yet seductive.  
     “Jonathan?”  
     He looked into her eyes.  
     “I’m a virgin.”  
     “Yes, I know.”  
     Minutes later, it was done...over...her worrisome burden removed for eternity, never to haunt her again.  
     Now Jonathan rolled away and covered them both with a fog-blue sheet.  
     “Is that all?” she asked, confused.  
     Jonathan smiled. “Did you expect something else?”  
     “My girlfriends—they always described it as being like...a bolt of energy, like...”  
     He turned on his side, at the same time bringing the sheet up about her bare shoulders. “The first time is seldom like that, Vera. Are you in pain?” he asked, touching her cheek.  
     “No. I was only wondering what happens now.”  
     “What happens now,” he repeated, frowning.  
     “How I get back to my unit.”  
     “Why go back?” he said with a smile.  
     “Why?” Vera could hardly believe her ears. “I can’t stay here,” she squeaked, sitting bolt upright and rapidly clutching the silky sheet to her bosom. “What if someone tunes in my unit and finds me gone? What if I’m called to CC? By the crystal, what if Logan finds out?”  
     Jonathan sat up, as well, and stroked her arm in a calming motion. “Vera, I’ve got a deal to make with you.”  
     “A deal?” she said, more relaxed and curiosity overtaking her emotions.  
     “Yes, I know you’re infatuated with Logan—that’s easy enough for anyone to see.”  
     At this, Vera blushed and turned away then heard, “And the only reason he paid any attention to you tonight was nothing more than his idea of a cruel joke. He’s not interested in you, at least not now.”  
     Her own interest grew. “What do you mean, ‘not now’?”  
     “For a man, something is always much more precious if he’s had a chance to obtain it but lost it to someone else. If you become my pair-mate,” he continued, “Logan would have second thoughts about your worth as someone besides a Sandman. He’d wonder why you’d given yourself to me, instead of him.” He chuckled mischievously. “He’d wonder a lot. In fact, within two days of our announcement, I’d wager his efficiency rating will drop twenty points.”  
     “You think so?” she asked, mouth curling slightly.  
     “I’m positive. Is it a deal?” he returned, putting out his hand.  
     Vera placed her hand in his and kissed his cheek. “A deal.” Then her eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. “What’s in this for you?”  
     “Me?” His eyebrows rose faintly then shadowed the green eyes once more. “A few weeks of companionship...before I go Lastday. That’s all.”  
     For an irrational moment, Vera felt sadness at this news. “You’re going Lastday?”  
     “Yes.” He said nothing more, and his face showed no emotion of whether he welcomed or feared the coming event.  
     The door signal sounded, and Jonathan slipped into his velverobe to answer it, leaving Vera in bed.

     An angry Ballard pushed past the older man, muttering, “I’ve looked everywhere for her. I’m at my wits’ end.” Then he spotted the minute pile of black and, picking it up, recognized it for what it was.  
     “You bastard!” he shouted, turning on Jonathan and pushed him back. “Of all the people I thought I could trust—you! Where is she?”  
     The older Sandman grasped Ballard by the shoulders and softly said, “Calm yourself and lower your voice. She’s in the sleeproom.” But at that Ballard’s features reddened. “There’s something you should know, however,” Jonathan continued. “She’s agreed to be my pair-mate.”  
     Ballard’s face dropped, and he broke free from Jonathan’s grip then walked from one corner of the room to the one opposite and from there to the glass wall. “Better you than Logan, I suppose,” he admitted, now seeming his usual, controlled self. Again, he faced the older man. “But why? No,” he said, raising a hand, “don’t answer that. You’ve undoubtedly considered...everything.” He started toward the unit door, saying, “So be it.”  
     But Jonathan followed him to the balcony outside. “You’ll bring her things, won’t you, since you’re the only other person with a demagnetizer to her unit, and I don’t want her going anywhere without me, at least for a while.”  
     Ballard threw a cool glance at Jonathan. “Sure, I’ll bring them.” Facing him, he said, “If Francis were still here, this never would have happened.”  
     "You know how distracted he was, even on duty, after your mother visited him when she brought you. You know how his condition rapidly deteriorated before we could get him to Sanctuary. If Francis were still here,” the other replied matter-of-factly, “it would have happened sooner.” In answer, Ballard nodded and left.

     An hour later, Ballard returned and entered to Jonathan’s motion to place Vera’s things on the single table. “Her uniform card is there, too,” he remarked a bit loudly.  
“Keep your voice down. She’s asleep.” Then Jonathan examined his new pair-mate’s belongings.  
     “If you hurt her, ever, I’ll see you...you’ll answer to me,” Ballard hissed coming up behind him.  
     Jonathan turned and faced the trainee. “Hurt her? Do you realize what she means to me?” He walked away. “No, you couldn’t possibly know.” Suddenly he turned and faced Ballard. “Let me tell you something, Ballard,” he said, pointing a threatening finger at him, “I knew Francis better than you ever did and knew Tremayne, too.”  
     Ballard crossed his arms, started to speak but apparently thought better of it.  
     Jonathan walked to the glass wall. “I remember when I was a new Yellow how Tremayne would take Francis and me to Nursery, everyday not just occasionally, to see Vera while she was only an infant. And every time, he’d say the same thing, ‘When I’m gone, she’s your responsibility. She’s the next Sandlady, maybe the only other female from the City who will be. Things are changing,’ he’d say, ‘things are different since the Primary took charge. You’ve got to take care of her as you would yourself and put her safety above all else, because she’s the most important thing that’s happened to this city. She’s so important you’ll never understand until you’re Reds.’” Again, Jonathan approached Ballard.  
     “Do you think I enjoyed watching Logan work his sick joke on her? Do you think I wanted to stand by all these years and do nothing, biding my time until there was something I could do? Well, that sometime has come. I said if Francis was still here it would’ve happened sooner, and I meant it. You can’t possibly understand. I know,” he finished with a hiss.  
     Ballard listened less than patiently all the while, but now broke in, “How can you say that; how can you be so sure I wouldn’t understand? I was as close as anyone ever could be to Francis. He was my—“  
     Jonathan quietly exploded, lowering his voice to keep from awakening Vera, and was now towering over the young Green. “No, Ballard. I was the only one in the entire city who could be that close. You didn’t even see the changes in him those last years. He wasn’t a sane man, I tell you. He was obsessed. I had to keep him from being killed more than three times in less than six months. You know, everyone knows that wasn’t like Francis. If he were still here, still Vera’s protector, he wouldn’t have seen what was happening to her, much less noticed, because he was too engrossed with his own thoughts, ones which had nothing to do with her.”  
     “And I still say you couldn’t have known him the way I did,” Ballard reaffirmed.  
Jonathan flopped into a chair. “How many unaccounted for Runners have there been in the last five years, up until a year ago?”  
     “None. But what has that got to do with Francis?”  
     “Everything,” Jonathan said then looked pointedly at Ballard, “doesn’t it?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

     Vera was unusually silent as she sat beside Jonathan in the mazecar on the way to HQ. They’d talked for nearly an hour that morning, discussing Ballard’s and then Logan’s possible reactions to their pair-up. Having second thoughts, she now doubted the wisdom and logic of her choice and could count on one hand her infatuations on first one Sandman then another through her Green years, and none had lasted. Her feelings had always drifted back to the unobtainable Logan. Did her real problem lie in the fact she was never taken seriously, never treated as a woman but as one of “the boys”—just another Sandman? Why, she could walk naked through Gym and not attract a single one of their attention. And her figure was far from boyish—Jonathan had reassured her of that fact last night, when he first returned from speaking with Ballard. Would her short-lived pair-up with Jonathan evoke something other than camaraderie in the other DS, especially Logan? Or would things still be the same? On the other hand, after what Logan had tried, she wasn’t sure he was worthy of her affection.

  
     The mazecar slid to a stop, and Vera felt the decreasing air pressure drift around her body, as she stepped from the car with Jonathan behind her and his hand just above her waist. Even as they ascended the countless shining steps of HQ, his hand remained there and seemed to make a point of keeping his arm about her as they walked the corridors, passing other DS. On her face she wore what Jonathan had described as a contented smile, the kind a woman has when she’s been sexually satisfied by a man she cares for, deeply. But inside, she was frightened one DS in particular would be inside the next set of blacks coming their way and would see through her.  
     Suddenly, she felt Jonathan’s arm pull her a bit closer and his kiss on her cheek. Logan was approaching, his face bearing a puzzled look as he saw them and came nearer.  
“You missed a great party. Shouldn’t have left so soon,” Logan said, once he’d reached them. “Balt brought some Audramyl. Really got the party rolling.” He grinned impishly and significantly.  
     Jonathan quietly returned the smile and again kissed Vera’s cheek. “We had our own party, Logan, and doubt even Audramyl could have improved it. Right Vera?” He looked at her, and she began to play her part, slipping her hand to his face and tickling the hair of his sideburns.  
     “Nothing could’ve improved our night.”  
     Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Logan look suspiciously from her to Jonathan, although he said nothing. She could see Jonathan noted it, too, and now said, “We’re on our way to see Balt to have Vera assigned to me for patrol. After all, a man can’t have his pair-mate out of his sight, now, can he?”  
     If Logan was shocked, he didn’t show it. “Pair-mate.” Now his eyebrows raised in what Vera could discern as real or mock surprise. “But what about Ballard’s training? He still has over a year left, and you’re now his main trainer.”  
     “I’ll speak to Balt about that, too. How’d you like to finish it, Logan? If so, I’ll put in a good word for you.”  
Logan shifted his weight and put a foot forward, as if ready to leave. “Don’t do me any favors, Jonathan.” He shot a final glance at Vera, who was now gliding her hand up Jonathan’s formidable arm, and left without another word.

     With Vera deposited at the library, Jonathan sought out the year’s Primary, Baltzegar Two, in charge of all DS activities for a period of one year. The first had been Baltzegar One, the present Primary’s seed-father.  
     The Primary had no office, as such, in HQ, but was never assigned patrol, so could always be found somewhere in the building. This time Jonathan found him working out in the gym, his bulging muscles gleaming with perspiration under the brief cut of the black gym tights. But on seeing Jonathan, he slowly lowered the heavy barbell back onto the supports of the bench and sat up.  
     “Looking for me?” he asked, picking up a gray towel from the floor and wiping his sweaty chest.  
     “I want the Sandlady assigned as my new partner.”  
     “Bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?” Balt raked both hands through his coal black shag of hair and squinted, jerking his head slightly to the glass wall of the gym, one which to anyone outside looked like the rest of the building—gold glass. “Saw you two arriving earlier. Was kind of surprised you both left the party before I got there. Logan told me about Vera’s state when she left, and then you show up with her this morning, looking like a couple of Love Shop techs after a hard night without clients.”  
Jonathan grinned. “Let’s just say my approach to women isn’t as crass as Logan’s.”  
“So, why you want her switched to you? Your nighttime activities shouldn’t have to be dealt with in the daytime or regular duty hours, too.”  
“She’s my pair-mate, now, so want her where I can see her...if you know what I mean.”  
“Pair-mate,” Balt voiced, tilting his head. “That is a surprise. You’re to be congratulated, Jonathan. There’s not a man in DS who won’t envy you. But then you won’t be around to enjoy it for long, will you, going Lastday in...how long is it?”  
“Less than a week, I figure.”  
“Yes. So, what do we do with Ballard, if I put Sandlady on patrol with you? Put him with your old partner Collins Four?”  
Jonathan nodded in answer. “Wouldn’t hurt either one of them. Collins could use some discipline.”  
“But, if you ask me, Ballard’s too sure of himself,” Balt said, flexing his fingers then stopping to examine a blister on his palm. “Ought to be taken down a notch or two.” he looked up at Jonathan. “Ever see him terminate a Runner? No games, no fun, just catches up with ‘em and zap!” the Primary finished, his finger pointed in imitation of the Gun.  
“At least his way is effective. Over a hundred Runners terminated by him this year, eighty the one before. He had a better efficiency record than the full-time operatives.  
Baltzegar shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with a Sandman who doesn’t use his job to get a little fun out of life. He’s never been to the Love Shop that I know of, either.” Suddenly, the Primary’s mood changed.  
“Say, I’ve been thinking about putting on a search for about two or three more Sandladies from all the Domes. What do you think?”  
“Good idea, if you can find some as qualified as Vera. Probably best to look for those whose seed-fathers were DS.”  
“Already thought of that and Thinker’s working on it now. Should have a tentative list by this afternoon and start testing the local ones tomorrow morning.”  
Jonathan nodded. “Should be interesting. I’ll be going now, if it’s all right. Don’t like the Citizens to feel unprotected, and night patrol is probably getting a hernia waiting to be relieved.”  
“Sure, go ahead.” But, when Jonathan turned to leave, Balt’s voice stopped him. “But keep in touch, won’t you. I don’t like my operatives taking too much initiative.”

As soon as Jonathan left, Balt rose and walked to the wall com. “Logan Six, report to gym.” With his mouth set in a hard straight line, the Primary narrowed his blue steel eyes.  
Minutes later, Logan entered, and there were only the two of them.  
“Yeah?” said Logan.  
“Keep an eye on Jonathan and Vera. I don’t trust either of them.”  
Logan nodded.  
“Can Collins be trusted?”  
Logan rubbed his chin. “Possibly, why?”  
“Ballard’s his partner now, and I’ve never trusted Ballard.”  
“I’ll work something out,” Logan assured his Primary. “Something...”

Surrounded by bank after bank of computer consoles and stored discs, Vera sat alone, her face wearing a look of confused concern. On one of the viewscreens before her, the last frames of a a certain record were flashing by. As her wait for Jonathan grew longer and longer, she’d begun it in idle curiosity. Most DS knew ova and sperm were often stored for several years before use, but even in the Incubator Sector of Regeneration, there was no Ballard Four, no Jonathan Five, and worse yet, no Vera Five. There were also no further Francises or Jessicas, no other Tremayne of any age. And what was more confusing, was none of the Yellows or Blue had two seed-parents listed, only one: a seed-father for the males and a seed-mother for the females. This was also true of all Greens up to the age of twenty.  
Vera pressed another button on the console before her. “Vera Four requesting tie-in to main computer, priority Two-double-A.”  
“COMPUTER,” a sexless voice answered.  
“Question: why are citizens one-four-seven-eight-four through two-three-five-six-two listed as having one seed-parent?”  
“THOSE CITIZENS ARE CLONES.”  
Vera felt her face contort with disbelief, as she whispered the word to herself then asked, “Question: when was the cloning process initiated and under whose authority?”  
“YEAR OF THE NEW CITY TWENTY-TWO-SEVENTY-SEVEN UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF PRIMARY BALTZEGAR ONE.”  
“There is no record of sub-adult males Francis, Tremayne, Ballard and Jonathan, or of sub-adult females Vera, Jessica, and Holly. Question: why is this?”  
“THOSE SERIES WERE CONSIDERED UNDESIRABLES. IT WAS DEEMED IMPERATIVE THEY BE DISCONTINUED.”  
“Question: were other series discontinued?  
“AFFIRMATIVE.”  
“Question: for what reason?”  
“UNDESIREABLES, POTENTIAL RUNNERS, INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT OF HIGHER RANGE WITH HIGH RUNNER PROBABILITY SCORE.”  
“Computer.” It was Jonathan who spoke now behind Vera. “State origin of Baltzegar Two.”  
“CLONE OF BALTZEGAR ONE.”  
“That is all, Computer.” Jonathan turned Vera to face him. “Now you know what we have to fight. There are many Runners now, but in ten years there’ll be only a few, except by accident. Because even clones think for themselves—they aren’t carbon copies, as Balt would have them be.”  
“But it’s wrong. Clones!” She cringed. “Thank the Crystal I’m not one. What happened to all the donor reproductive cells?”  
“Most destroyed in the Great Calamity. That’s why the cloning program started. But it got out of hand. Even though Tremayne safely transferred some frozen cells in Thinker’s core, I don’t know of anyone who’s actually seen them or even know whose they are.”  
Vera rose and started toward the door. “Jonathan, if cloning will prevent the citizens from turning into Runners, isn’t that a good thing?”  
“Oh, sure, except without Runners, DS could be abolished, along with all its privileges. And you, I and Ballard are all considered undesirables, so where will that leave us?”  
Vera looked up into his eyes, still confused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”  
“Maybe you’d better. Come, though, we’d better get on patrol.”

Jonathan’s patrol sector covered the lower portion of the park which surrounded the building housing Plaza.  
“Have you ever been Outside?” he asked Vera, as they walked one of the numerous graveled paths.  
“No,” was her answer.  
Jonathan became puzzled. “Never?” he asked again to be sure.  
“No, never. Haven’t been any Runners who got Outside since I started training.”  
“Francis never took you Outside, as part of your training—to show you the country where the Pleasure Gypsies live or Cape Steinbeck?”  
“No, guess he didn’t consider it important. What’s Cape Steinbeck?”  
“Just an old spaceport.”  
“Oh.”  
He looked at his pair-mate with new eyes. Was it possible Francis had told her nothing? And, what about Ballard? There were times when Ballard said something which made Jonathan wonder how much he also knew. But Ballard was secretive in everything he did, although he and Francis had been inseparable those last five years. By then, however, Francis was already becoming mentally unbalanced. And, if Jonathan hadn’t gotten him out of New City when he did...”  
“Does Ballard approve of us pairing?” Vera asked, returning his attention to her.  
“He didn’t have a choice. Besides, what difference does it make?”  
“Well, he is my brother, you know.”  
“What makes you think so, anyway?”  
“Computer said we had the same seed-mother, and Francis told me so, when Ballard first came to New City.”  
“Why don’t you invite him over tonight?”  
“I rather thought you’d want to be alone with me, tonight,” she said touching his arm.  
Although he didn’t shrug her off, she must think he seemed suddenly unfeeling. “We agreed our pairing was only to gain you Logan, right? Besides, I thought you didn’t like sex.”  
“Jonathan,” she replied, withdrawing her arm. “I never said such a thing, and the second time was quite enjoyable.”  
But he was deadly serious, his face stern, as he threw her a quick look, one which abruptly stifled her voice or any thoughts of rebuttal, surely thinking him now a stranger. “You’ll do as I say,” he hissed. “No questions asked—everything I say.”  
“And why should I?” she said, unused to being spoken to in such a manner.  
“Because,” he said, roughly gripping her arm, “if you don’t, your next patrol will be in Cathedral...alone.”  
Seeing her eyes fire a challenge, he heard her say, “You wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of man.”  
“Never judge me, Vera. I’m not what I appear.”

Ten meters behind them, a dark figure stopped and darted into the trees, when Jonathan turned to speak to Vera. It seemed to the black-clad observer the couple wasn’t as affectionate as this morning. Noticeably so. A very interesting exhibition of emotion. But, just as Logan was about to make a verbal notation into his Follower, Jonathan drew Vera closer and kissed her warmly, as she obviously returned it.  
Damn, Logan cursed to himself but watched a few minutes more as they continued their patrol, casually touching each other, almost as if by accident. Logan could have any woman in New City, so why did he want this one so much. Because she’s perfect--especially now--and once Jonathan goes on Carrousel, she’ll belong to me.  
###  
That night in Jonathan’s unit, he handed Vera a clear, tubular glassful of red liquid. “Drink it,” he commanded.  
She briefly looked at him, gray eyes squinting in defiance, but his eyes were as unreadable now as they’d been throughout the day, even when he’d suddenly kissed her, while warning her they were being watched. After she drained the glass, he guided her to the sleeproom.  
“But Ballard’s coming soon.”  
“We have private matters to discuss, Vera, ones you’re better off not knowing.” He touched her cheek. “Trust me.” In that instant, his eyes seemed to reveal his inner soul but quickly closed them, once more. “You’ll sleep until morning, and til then, I’ll not disturb you.”  
It was only minutes later, the door signal blurred in Vera’s ears, when Ballard arrived, and she fought the drug to hear what sort of “private matters” Jonathan was so determined she not know of. But the drug was too strong and her body succumbed before their short greeting ended.

“I thought Vera was going to be here.”  
After making sure the door locked after Ballard, Jonathan said, “She is, but I gave her Morphillium. We’ve some very important things to discuss, ones I must know before another day passes.”  
“And what could be so important?”  
“How much does she know?”  
“Know about what?” Suddenly, the younger man’s face changed, and he whispered, “Sanctuary? Nothing.”  
“Nothing? You mean Francis told her nothing at all?”  
Ballard shook his head. “He didn’t want her to know—was afraid she couldn’t handle it—might leak the information or accidentally incriminate him or one of the others.”  
“But now older, she’d surely guard it.”  
“Francis’ final words tome were, ‘Don’t tell her.”  
“But why? He planned all along to take her with him when he left. Why didn’t he?”  
Ballard shrugged. “Who knows?”  
“Does she know about you?”  
“She thinks I’m just a rather overly-serious half-brother, nothing more.”  
“Then she really doesn’t know about Francis, either.”  
“No.”  
Jonathan slammed his fist into his other hand, as he paced the room and Ballard slowly sat on the room’s single couch. Now Jonathan turned and muttered, “And Balt is wondering about your lack of sex life. Maybe if you’d been here longer, you wouldn’t act like such a robot.”  
“My sex life is my business. Just because I don’t behave like Dramaelian bradwurt in rut, doesn’t mean I don’t have my share. Damn Balt’s oversexed id, anyway. What does he know?”  
“Steady, kid, we’ve got Vera to worry about, and somehow I’ve got to get her to the House.”  
Ballard sighed. “I don’t think that’s possible. You’re being tailed by Logan. Did you know?”  
“Yeah, saw him in the park today. Jealousy or assignment, though?”  
“Rumor has it assignment. So, you’re not likely to get any Runner assignments that will take you Outside. And, if you do, Vera will have to be with you. Balt’s going to watch you like a hawk up to the very moment you enter Carrousel.”  
“How do you know all this?”  
Ballard leaned back, a vague semblance of a smile on his face. “I have my sources.”  
“Is there any place where I can radio a transmission to Sanctuary?”  
“No, but I have something that will.” Ballard reached under his tunic and withdrew a small, black rectangular box. “I brought it with me five years ago, so I can keep in regular communication with Regency vessels. With a few modifications, it could reach Sanctuary Two.”  
Jonathan took the transceiver from Ballard and examined it. “A-Four type. Adequate.” He walked to the glass wall, looking beyond it and the domes to the star-filled sky, seeking the small speck of light which wasn’t visible, the place he called home.  
“What is the latest news from the Regency?”  
“The Princess L’Pira passed her fourth birthday last month. Tregar died a year ago. In general, life on Meldana goes on without us.” Now he rose and retrieved the transceiver and began taking it apart. “The Meldanans have prepared a vessel for us, whenever we want to go. I should be able to pilot it.”  
“No, you’ll have to stay here. If I do manage to get Outside, enough suspicion will be aroused when Vera and I don’t return within a week.”  
“You can use the time warp to return a day earlier. But there’s one other thing, Jonathan. Vera’s never been designated Indefinite.”  
His eyes caught Ballard’s, as he looked for his reaction. “Who has programming control with Francis gone?”  
“No one I know of. It’s a good thing you and I are Indefinite.” Ballard continued making his adjustments to the transceiver as he said, “You’re the one nearing Lastday. How do you get out of Carrousel?”  
Jonathan had walked to the sleeproom door and now gazed at the inert form of the woman on the bed. “What about the way Vera Three Renewed?”  
“That was pure luck. She told me so herself. A one in a thousand chance of perfect retrieval.”  
“Back in Vera Three’s time,” Jonathan began, “she and Francis chased two Runners to the Carrousel Prep Room. They couldn’t discover how they left but suspected a panel of some sort. Caught up with the pair Outside. If we could discover where it was...or I could have direct transport to the Regency vessel from this unit the night before.”  
“Possible,” Ballard said, “but where’s the challenge?  
“Watch it, kid. You’re beginning to develop a sense of humor.”  
“Of course,” the kid remarked, “there’s no reason for you to face Carrousel—you are Indefinite. And there’s no way to have you Retrogrammed.”  
“But too many who know I’m going Lastday soon, so how do I get around that fact? What happens when the day comes and my lifeclock is still red? What happens then, Ballard, tell me that.”  
“The transceiver’s ready, but you’ll have to use it Outside. They’d pick up the signal within New City in a minute.” Ballard handed the black shape back to Jonathan. “Since you haven’t much time, what do you plan to do?”  
Crossing to the glass wall, Jonathan said, “I think we’ll have a party in the next few days. When do you have Monitor duty?”  
“Tomorrow.”  
“Then tomorrow we’ll it. You understand?” He turned and looked at the trainee.  
Ballard nodded. “With plenty of Audramyl and plenty of Screamers? Yes, I think you can have a very successful party.” He half-smiled. “Of course, it would be a pity you and Vera would be called out to hunt a Runner. But you are on call tomorrow night, aren’t you? Yes, what a  
pity.”  
“Right, what a pity. But the time has come. This New City stifles me. I can’t be what I am here. You know what they did to the Old Man, don’t you?”  
“Yes, Francis told me. Just because he was different, the First Primary made sure he didn’t survive to change things and maybe make others different. Too bad. Even he could’ve taught the citizens a great deal, if only he’d been allowed to live.”  
“Yes,” Jonathan replied, “and do you think if I stayed here, like Francis did, all those years, I’d ‘survive’ or that someone wouldn’t eventually point their finger and say, ‘He doesn’t belong here’.”  
“You’re right, but take Vera with you, Jonathan. She doesn’t belong here, either. Me, I can make it, at least as long as needed to get the job done. But you know the Committee’s final ruling on the cities—at least one Meldanan citizen residing in each until further notice. And they’re not likely to rescind that ruling.”  
“Okay. I’ll take Vera Outside but can’t promise to take her any farther. Before I can make that decision, I have to know all the facts—and that will take quite some time...even with this,” he added, holding the transceiver in front of him, “even with and because of this.”

The party promised to be the event of the month, bigger than the one a few days earlier, and if there was one thing DS, Sandmen and trainee alike, enjoyed more than terminating Runners, it was a Sandman-planned party, for only they were how to really throw a good one.  
There was a plethora of black in Jonathan’s unit, sheers of green and pink daringly covering women’s bodies as they pressed to and slid across the black-garbed men’s. In every corner the sweet scent of Audramyl was heavy as Sandman and female alike constantly sniffed the drug-soaked pads scattered about the room. Already, the room looked more like a scene at Love Shop. Vera and Jonathan acted their parts, playing hosts, while at the same time displaying enough affection for each other to belay suspicion.  
Even Baltzegar and Logan wee there. And, as soon as they’d entered, Jonathan had steered two voluptuous, already drugged Greens into their waiting arms. The girls, members of the Sanctuary Underground, had their orders and plied their charges with the drug-soaked pads at once. They’d had little time to reflect on what Logan had seen in the park and confided to the Primary.  
The signal came on Jonathan’s Follower—RUNNER. PLAZA ENTRANCE SOUTH. MALE. A quick glance at Balt and Logan showed them well occupied, and Jonathan took a confused Vera’s hand and led her out of the unit. Once on the balcony, he pointed to the Follower still on his belt.  
“Runner,” he said.  
With a nod, she followed him to the nearest mazecar.  
Jonathan didn’t need to check with HQ to know the Runner’s name. It was Ellis Six, designated for Sanctuary Two. There was only one catch: Vera didn’t know this Runner couldn’t be terminated, because she’d barely heard of Sanctuary and didn’t know it really existed.

They reached the South Plaza entrance and found the Runner. Vera raised her Flamegun first as Jonathan whispered, “Let me take him. We’ll have a little fun, though, first. Circle ‘round to that clump of trees and drive him toward the other end of Plaza. By then, he’ll be so tired, it’ll be easy.”  
Vera nodded and started off, while Jonathan pointed his Gun at the red-clad male and shouted, “Better run for it, Runner!”  
The man turned and stared wide-eyed then darted to his left, narrowly missing the blue flame from the Gun as it disintegrated part of the concrete embankment behind him.  
Now it was Vera’s turn. Her voice seemed too harsh for woman’s when she said, “Can’t you run, Runner? Won’t your feet move? Be glad to help you.” She fired at the man’s feet, driving him farther backward and farther down the long Plaza.  
Now Jonathan raced to a point opposite the Runner’s, as Vera moved behind the wall of a shop and could see the Runner’s face streaming with perspiration and his red tunic clinging to his damp skin. Now with his left hand he reached out to clutch the security of a stairway railing at his side, but the only exit from Plaza was fifty meters away. Surely he knew the Sandmen were toying with, because twice they could’ve terminated and hadn’t. But which way would he go now. Jonathan knew he also wondered how he could reach Outside and Sanctuary.

The ankh hung heavily on the thick chain about his neck, dangling under the sticky cloth of his wet tunic. And, as he felt the cold metal touch his skin, he knew only one thing...he wanted to live. But to live, he had to run, run faster than he ever had in his life. Run, Runner, run!  
The Sandmen had vanished, but Ellis knew they were hiding somewhere, so stayed in the shadows below the stairway then darted to the darkness of first one tree and then another. It was quiet, too quiet as they say. He could hear his own breath and his heart thudding in his chest. Twenty meters more...not much. Ellis looked carefully down the mall of Plaza and saw nothing: no Sandmen...no cover...no shadows. So, sucking in what he thought would be his last lungful of air, he plunged out of the trees and across the emptiness.  
A flame erupted behind him so close he could feel its heat. The Sandmen didn’t waste stun charges on Runners.  
“Run!” his head shouted. “Run for your life.”  
Not far, not far, his heart echoed. There. The exit. There. Look!  
Inside. Dark. A sound. A shape. Black! Sandman black!  
Ellis’ chest heaved convulsively with fear. “No, no!” he rasped.  
“Get moving before the other operative catches up.”  
But Ellis stood frozen and the Sandman shoved him down the tunnel which led to the mazecars. “You want to live? Then get moving.”

As Jonathan heard Vera’s footsteps clattering across the mall toward the tunnel, he turned and looked back at the Runner, whispering, “The secret of Sanctuary is life.”  
“And life is dear,” the other answered, astonished, his mouth hanging open.  
“Take the car to Cape Steinbeck, code Two-Black. Do you understand?”  
The man nodded.  
“We’ll be right behind you, but don’t worry. You’ll see Sanctuary. I promise.” He grabbed the man’s arm and propelled him down the tunnel, running in the opposite direction to meet Vera.  
“He reached the cars,” he told her. “Knocked me down. We’ll have to go after him.”  
Vera nodded then looked at Jonathan as he rubbed the imaginary injury at the base of his neck. “Will you be all right?” she asked.  
“Yeah,” he said with a nod, “I think so.”  
“Knew we should’ve terminated him when we first saw him,” she remarked, half disgusted.  
Jonathan kept quiet and took her arm. “Better get going.”

Inside the mazecar, Jonathan leaned back and said, “Code Red,” and a panel raised to reveal a scanner graph, where a signal glow appeared north of their location.  
“Damn, Outside already.” He looked at Vera, who was studying the graph. “Should be able to  
intercept him at Victoria Station.” The car moved forward, steadily increasing speed as the shiny metallic walls slipped by.  
“Code Red-Black Three, Victoria Station,” Vera said, a bit reluctantly. A tiny chronometer showed time of arrival as 0HRS 45 MN.

Outside was like nothing Vera could have imagined: the sight of large trees, their heady fragrance, the brightness of the stars overhead, and the smell of moisture on the rich earth. But there was another odor she couldn’t put a name to and turned to Jonathan.  
“Salt air,” he provided. “We’re quite near the Gulf. Come, a storm’s brewing, and we’d better get to cover.”  
“But the Runner.”  
“He won’t be here til morning, most likely.” Suddenly, something disrupted Jonathan’s thought. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Vera about the House or even show it to her. She might be part Meldanan, just as Ballard, but could he trust her? He decided this was too important a mission to risk her betrayal. Why, she could become his worst enemy.  
He stopped within twenty meters of the maze-tunnel, well into the trees. “Stay here and watch the tunnel,” he said. “I’ll go look for a cave or some other shelter.”  
She nodded, and he quickly made his way through the trees to the familiar clearing. Five steps to the door. He could feel it, now, the invisible entry to the shielded House. On entering, he looked about. Nothing had been disturbed since he’d been here last, two years earlier. With the transceiver removed from beneath his tunic, he said, “Jonathan to Sanctuary Two Control.”  
A moment later a voiced answered. “Identify Jonathan.”  
“Teras, son of Talmark and L’Pressa of Shalgar.”  
“Identified. Continue.”  
“Request status of Meldanan vessel.”  
“Nearly complete. Another week on the outside should do it. Planning a trip?”  
“Affirmative, but it’ll be round trip. What’s the status on Ballard Two?”  
After another short silence, he heard, “Not good, Teras. Not good at all. He’s ordered a ‘droid, a companion ‘droid. Don’t need to tell you the specifics.”  
“Negative, Control. You don’t.”  
“If you’re planning a jump up here, it better be soon.”  
“Affirmative, am planning to come, but there are complications.” He let the beat of his heart go by before he finished, “I’m not alone. Vera Four’s with me.”  
“Negative, Teras! Don’t bring her. In Ballard’s present condition, he’d mistake her for L’Pira. Wouldn’t do her any good.”  
“Can you patch me in with Ballard?”  
“Negative. He’s not receiving transmissions. Techs say he’s on verge of psychosis...nothing they can do to stop it. Goes deeper and deeper every day. He holds Logan responsible for L’Pira’s leaving the City.”  
“Think he’d see me?”  
“Probably.”  
“Any idea why he didn’t tell Vera Four about his being her father or about Sanctuary?”  
There was another agonizing silence. “Affirmative, Teras.” Another long pause. “Said she  
believed New City and its system were right. Doesn’t question it. Gave me the impression he was pretty disappointed with the way she turned out.” There was a third silence. “Won’t even talk about her, just says ‘unnatural’.”  
“I’m coming up, Control. Make an appointment for me to see the techs...day after tomorrow. Be up some time tomorrow.”  
“Affirmative. See you on the pad.”  
“Affirmative, Control. Teras out.”  
So, his suspicions about Vera were right, as much as he hated them. He couldn’t take her to Meldana or Sanctuary Two. Now, there was only one problem: how to get to Sanctuary Two and ditch Vera along the way. If she broke her leg or ankle, he could send her back to New City. Or, if some other accident occurred, disable her until he could get back.  
Thunder rolled in the distance, heralding the approaching storm, as Jonathan went into the single sleeproom of the dome-shaped House. There, a panel raised in the wall, revealing shelf after shelf of drugs. Everything he needed was here.

Already the sky had turned to a murky grayish black when he crept up behind Vera, as she turned, Gun drawn, to confront him.  
“Anything happen?” he asked.  
She turned away. “Nothing. Are you sure he’ll come this way?”  
“Pretty sure.” His hand went around her waist, as he sat down facing her, but noticed she regarded his hand suspiciously, although said nothing.  
“Look, there’s a small cave about fifty meters from here. It’s small but big enough for us to get out of the rain when it comes.”  
“What’s rain?”  
“Rain? Uh, you know, water from the sky. You’ve never seen rain?”  
“No.” Her eyes left him and returned to the maze-tunnel entrance. “You haven’t touched me in private since that first night. Why now?”  
He edged away. “I’ve had my mind on a lot lately. In three days I go on Carrousel, remember?”  
“So?”  
“I don’t owe you anything, Vera,” he said, standing. “Are we going to the cave or not? I don’t particularly relish standing around under a bush or tree getting soaked.”  
“What about the Runner?”  
“He probably won’t get her til morning.”  
“If you say so,” she said, clipping her Gun back on her belt and rising. Even as she did so, huge drops of water began to pelt her from the sky, so covered her head with her hands and ran with Jonathan toward the small hole in the face of a limestone overhang in a small hill. And, by the time they reached the cave’s vaulted entrance, the rain was coming down in full force, the peals of thunder growing louder and nearer.  
Jonathan began building a small fire with pieces of branches he’d stashed there on his way back to Vera and in minutes a small blaze was warming the wet DS operatives.  
“So, that’s rain,” she said.  
About the same moment, an ear-splitting clap of thunder shattered the lazy pattering of raindrops outside, and Vera instinctively sought refuge in Jonathan’s arms.  
“Hey,” he said, stroking her hair, “it’s all right. It’s just thunder. It can’t hurt you. Try to relax.”  
“But it was so loud.”  
“It’ll soon pass. You’ll see.”  
As if mocking his words, a bolt of crashing lightening split a gnarled ancient liveoak three meters from where they sat, leaving its remains smoking after the blaze was quickly quenched by the cold rains.  
Vera wormed closer to Jonathan. “I hate Outside. I want to go back to New City. Take me back, Jonathan,” she pleaded, looking into his eyes.  
He regarded her, huddled here against his chest, her luxurious hair a tangled wet mass of strings dripping rivulets of water down her back and breasts, eyes huge and afraid, and tears mixed with remnants of raindrops on her cheeks. She seemed so outrageously beautiful and vulnerable, but he had to fight those emotions away and concentrate on the matter at hand. Thought, as much as Jonathan hated to admit it, he enjoyed this closeness, this dependence on him...perhaps too much, because it just couldn’t be, no matter what he wanted.  
Outside, the storm rapidly passed, as the peals of thunder grew fainter and fainter, leaving only a steady drizzle. Beyond the cave entrance the minute raindrops landed with a bare impression in the already formed pools of water. As such rain does, it had lulled Vera into a deep sleep, still within Jonathan’s arms.  
Carefully, so as not to disturb her, Jonathan took away one arm to reach for another piece of wood and throw it onto the dying fire. With it blazed to life, he leaned back against the cave’s wall, now warmed by the small fire, and slept.

In a certain unit within New City, a party still raged, Sandmen, Screamers, drug-soaked pads in their hands, each enjoying life to the fullest.  
Logan raised a tousled head from a dark-haired Screamer’s shoulder in a sudden instant of reality, looking about the room and noting an absence of host and hostess.  
“Where are they? Balt,” he said, “where’s Jonathan and Vera? They’re gone.”  
The Primary pulled a Green to him from where he sat on the floor close to Logan. “Probably in the sleeproom.”  
Logan lunged to his feet, pushing off his Screamer and stumbled to the door of the sleeproom. There were several bodies there, male and female, but none belonged to the ones he sought.  
Next her made his way through the tangle of Sandmen and Screamers back to Baltzegar. “They’re not here.”  
The Primary looked at him, taking a moment for rationality to clear his head. “They’re really gone?”  
“Yeah.”  
Balt dumped his Screamer to the floor amid the girl’s protests and pushed her back to follow Logan to the unit’s door and the balcony where they could speak uninterrupted.  
“Checked with HQ?” Balt asked.  
“No, was gonna do that now.” he shook his head, trying to clear it of the heady drug. “Damn Audramyl.” His Follower slowly unclipped, he brought it to his lips. “Logan Six requesting position of operatives Vera Four and Jonathan Four, on authority of Primary Baltzegar Two.”  
In CC, Ballard Three, half-asleep, was brought bolt upright from the chair where he’d relaxed self-assured for several hours. “Control, Logan. I don’t have authority from Balt on file for you to request locations of operatives on duty. Maybe you’d better---“  
“Look, you little albino robot,” Balt hissed, taking the Follower from Logan, “if Logan Six says he has my authority, he does. Is that clear?”  
Ballard made a face of disgust and punched the recall button. “Yes, sir! I understand perfectly, sir. Those two operatives were sent on a Runner assignment in Plaza close to four hours ago.”  
“Well, stupid, where does the board show them now? Didn’t they terminate their Runner?”  
Ballard cursed silently at the further insult. Alone on the board, no one could know the actual readings or that the blips for two certain operatives and the glow for a certain Runner hadn’t been visible for nearly three hours. Now, however, he needed to throw Balt and Logan off the actual track but wondered what would happen to his guaranteed appointment as Primary in less than a year, if his lie was discovered. He had to risk it.  
“Runner got Outside by mazecar. Vera and Jonathan are in pursuit. No termination yet reported.” Ballard then cringed, knowing what response this news would bring.  
“A mazecar! And just how did that mazecar override programming to proceed Outside, trainee?”  
“I have no idea, sir. Possibly a computer malfunction.”  
“Well, look into it, Trainee. Do I have to tell you everything?”  
“No, sir. I’ll take care of it.”  
“See you do. Baltzegar out.”  
“Oh,” Ballard said to himself, “I’ll take care of it, all right, sir...just like I’ll take care of any mazecars you and the illustrious Logan Six decide to take Outside. I’ll definitely take care of it.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

     The rays of dawn knifed through the steam of the pine forest, searching their way toward the cave to awaken the two DS operatives. The woman, still entwined in the man’s strong arms, her lashes lay like black feathers on her cheeks. As a single fragile sunray persistently caressed her eyes, she stirred, drawing closer to the Sandman’s warmth. But finally the rays won out, and her eyes reluctantly fluttered open. Taking in her surrounding, the earthy smell of damp soil and the smoky fragrance of the dying fire at her feet, she could heard the sound of birds chirping in the trees. But more overwhelming than the rest, she reveled in the presence of the man and his inert strength which enveloped and protected her. When she lifted her head to see his face, her hand moved slowly toward it, wanting to touch him but afraid of awakening this sleeping, unpredictable embodiment of Deep Sleep perfection.

 

     She needn’t have concerned herself with awakening him, for he was already awake, his green eyes gently regarding her. But still he made no move to rise or dislodge her from his warmth. He considered telling her the truth but knew it not only illogical but impractical. And yet he sensed her mind working out the set of circumstances which had led them here, working out some certain aspects of truth which she’d soon voice.

     Now, as her gray eyes continued to meet his gaze—naïve but intelligent—gullible but too shrewd to be fooled, he heard her say, “The Runner’s not coming, is he?”

     Jonathan’s right hand moved seductively through her mass of hair to the nape of her neck. The time had come. “No, he isn’t.”

     Hollow eyes fastened on hers as his fingertips found their places on either side of her medulla oblongata and pressed steadily until she slumped in his arms. Rising, he lifted her inert body and headed for the clearing and the House.

     Inside, all was ready: the intravenous tubes and solutions which would keep her alive until his return...alive but unconscious. As an additional means of precaution, he strapped Vera firmly to the bed. Then, satisfied, he left.

 

     Logan sat in the mazecar beside his Primary, angrily punching the computer override button on the control panel. But still it refused to relinquish control to the Sandman.

     Baltzegar frowned, impatiently, then grabbed his Follower and jabbed in a sequence. “Control, this is your Primary. Why won’t Computer give us manual control of this ‘car?”

     Ballard stretched lazily, his feet propped on the control panels of CC.  “Gee, Balt, don’t understand. Everything here says you have manual. Must be another Computer malfunction.”

     Well then, dummy, why haven’t you checked it out?”

     “Can’t, sir. I’m here alone; can’t leave the Board that long. What if something important came up? My ass’d be on your desk first thing in the morning for neglecting my duty and deserting my post.”

     “And your ass will be in Sensory Privation if you don’t find out why we can’t get this ‘car moving, you imbecile.”

     “Yes, sir,” Ballard obediently replied. “I’ll see what I can do.” he put the panel on HOLD and read five pages of his Training Manual, idly punching in a few instructions to the mazecar’s computer which would cause some fireworks.

     Inside the mazecar, the control panel suddenly caught fire, sending sparks in all directions, and effectively driving two Sandmen out of its interior.

    “Ballard, you glass-head!”

     The trainee slowly responded to the call. “Yes, sir?”

     “What the Hell happened back there?”

     “Dunno. Just tried to relay some instructions to Computer, and it refused to accept the sequence, so—“

     “I don’t give a damn about that. What happened to the override?”

     “I was getting to that, sir. You see, I contacted Transportation when Thinker refused to accept my programming and they said all mazecars in your sector were acting awfully peculiar—“

     “All right, all right. Where _can_ we get a ‘car that’ll get us Outside?”

     Logan blew out a cheek full of air, while contemplating the personal dismemberment of a certain trainee upon their return to HQ.

     “You might try Sector R, sir. Transportation shows operable ‘cars in that area.”

     “Sector R? It’ll take us at least an hour to get there on foot. Where does the board show the Runner?”

     “Still Outside—can’t determine exact location or distance from the domes but looks like the vicinity of the Redwoods.”

     “No termination yet reported?”

     “No, sir.” 

     “You _will_ let us know if you receive notification, won’t you, trainee?”

     “Of course, sir. Why wouldn’t I?”

     Baltzegar slammed the OFF button of the Follower and slapped in angrily back into place on his belt. “Sector R! Damn Computer, damn trainee, damn New City,” he muttered, stalking off down the corridor, as Logan dogged his footsteps silently plotting his own revenge on all things mechanical.

 

     The Runner arrived shortly before Jonathan at the deserted spaceport, where skeletal gantries stood everywhere, some burned or half-collapsed and empty, while others embraced large and small space vessels.

     The single shuttle destroyed twenty-four years earlier had been replaced by the crew on Sanctuary Two and stood gleaming in its rusted hanger. Soon, the two men were on board, the Runner Ellis still apprehensive but beginning to trust the Sandman.

     As it climbed into the blackness, Jonathan switched the controls to auto-computer and signaled Control. “Shuttlecraft _Cereus_ launched. ETA twenty-three-forty-six, Moon time.”

    “We copy, _Cereus_. How many passengers?”

     “One, Control. Male, Ellis Six.”

     “Affirmative, _Cresas_. Is that total?”

     “Affirmative, _Cresas_ out.”

     The Runner sat at the rear of the shuttle’s control room, still glued to the back of his contour seat, face drained of color. As Jonathan approached him, the only part that moved were Ellis’ eyes. “Did you say ‘Moon Time’?”

     “Yeah.”

     “Sanctuary’s on the Moon/”

     “Right. Dark side. But you might be sent on to Sanctuary One—old Argus space station near Mars.”

     “What’s it like? You ever been there?”

     “Both a lot like New City, except the people are older. You’ll like it, I promise.” Jonathan studied the man for the first time. Behind the cool gray eyes (like Vera’s) and blond hair (like Ballard’s) the man was obviously quite emotional. Very pessimistic, too. “How’d you qualify, Ellis?”

     “Qualify?”      

     “Yeah, qualify for Sanctuary.”

     “Oh, I was a surgeon in the medical sector, even did some of the cloning work this last year. The aptitude tests when I was Yellow showed high mechanical skill, but they put me into apprentice surgery, anyway. Think I could work on machines, computers, and stuff, up there?”

     “They’ll retest you then assign you where they think best. If you qualify for mechanics  and that’s what you want, there’s a good chance that’ll be your assignment.”

     “Is it true Ballard Two is still alive?”

     Jonathan turned back to the control board. “Some would say so,” he answered.

 

     Vera briefly awoke to utter darkness. Strange forces seemed to hold her motionless and pulled her down into the depths of a deep well, since her body refused to function and refused to respond to her brain’s commands. She was dizzy, sleepy and could fight the forces no longer. But, as she lost her battle, her lips formed a single, dryly uttered word.

     “Jonathan.”

 

     With Ellis safely assigned to a citizen of Sanctuary for orientation, Jonathan reported to Sanctuary Control. The man behind the voice he’d spoken to the day before greeted him, his dark hair and features obviously of at least part American Indian ancestry.

     Holding out his hand over his shoulder as Jonathan approached him, sitting where he monitored the scanner board, he said, “Welcome back, Teras.”

     Jonathan turned momentarily away, cocking his head, as if listening to a minute sound. “Did you hear that?”

     “What?”

     “Thought someone was calling my name.”

     “That was me, sport?”

    “No, I thought it said ‘Jonathan’.”

    “Must be your imagination from spending too much time among the decadents.”

     “Guess so. Sure was strange, though. How’s it coming?”

     "That appointment’s at Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. Sorry. Better see the techs before you see Ballard, however."

     The man, inappropriately named Briggs turned to face Jonathan, who could see his lightly seamed face. “It’s going to shock you to see him, Teras. He still looks twenty-nine. Must be that face-change he had here twelve years ago. Hasn’t aged a day. Still dyes his hair, too, every two weeks without fail, ‘fore the gray hardly shows.

    Jonathan sat in the chair beside Briggs. “Suspected as much. I just don’t know if I’m prepared to cope with his mental state and especially that companion ‘droid of his. By the suns, I don’t think I can take that.”

     “Doesn’t have it yet, not for another day or two. You plan to see the Meldanan ambassador?”

     Jonathan looked at his hands where they lay folded in his lap. “Yeah, I’ll have to.” He rose and touched Briggs’ shoulder. “Sooner the better, I suppose. Still in Quad G?”

     “Right.”

     “See ya ‘fore I leave, then.”

 

     How many times in the last twenty-odd years had Teras been alone with the man who occupied one of the largest units in the underground complex? Dozens in the last ten, anyway. It was beyond Teras/Jonathan’s comprehension why Ambassador Talmark needed such spacious accommodations, since a Meldanan could do with much less. Perhaps it was merely position which afforded him such luxury.

     The door opened to his signal and the ambassador stood before him, tall, nearly a full two meters like Teras, himself, grayed hair, piercing green eyes, as light as shallow sea water, and under the heavy robes he wore a body as physically superb as any young athlete’s.

     “You wish to return to Meldana, Teras?” the man said without turning.

     “Yes.” Now Jonathan fidgeted a bit and hesitantly continued. “I may have a Terran passenger.”

     The ambassador turned around and fixed Jonathan with his light green eyes and raised his right eyebrow a scant centimeter. “Ballard?” he said.

     Jonathan nodded. “It is time he met the Princess L’Pira,” he said, going to the silken banner on the wall and touching the gilded glesier, symbol of his ancestral warrior race. “Perhaps it would help him; perhaps our people can help Ballard where the Terrans have failed.”

     Talmark seemed to consider his words then said, “It must be cleared with the Council, as unmated Terrans are not allowed on Meldana, as you are aware. But,” he continued, “have you considered the effect the Princess may have upon this man? The result could be disastrous.”

     “I have considered it, sir, very carefully. I believe the Essence will somehow recognize Ballard. I do not know how or exactly what method must be employed but do believe the Essence will know what to do.”

     “Such a thing has never been known to happen. But,” he added, lowering his body into a chair

behind his shiny desk, “the ways of the Essence are a mystery. And, if this thing you hope for

does not occur, what then, my son?”

     “If Ballard could but see the child, see in her the Essence Resemblance, and know L’Pira lives within her so her death was not futile, if he could but watch her grow into womanhood, being a part of her life, as he never was Vera Four’s and have a relationship denied him as a parent, would it not make him content, Father? Would that not help him return to normalcy?”

    “It is true, if a man is robbed of such an experience, it tries upon him and denies him fulfillment, especially if he knows he is a parent. Perhaps the Council acted in its wisdom when they took you from Meldana for this mission, but for your mother and I it was a loss, logical, yes, but nevertheless a loss, which left an emptiness within us. Fortunately, our loss was only temporary, and your work has given me no cause for shame or regret.” Now he leaned back in his chair, abandoning his usual straight-backed posture. “How are matters in New City?”

     “The same.” Jonathan sat on the desk’s edge, casually examining a jeweled dagger. “Ballard... Stalas’ prospects for becoming Primary at year’s end are very good. With luck, we can control Baltzegar til then.”

     Talmark nodded, a finger rubbing his chin, in what seemed contemplation, then looked again at Jonathan, whose eyes met his.

     “Your concern is unwarranted, Father. I have no...no emotional attachment to Vera Four. I have done only what was necessary.”

     “You have never lied to me, and as a full-blooded Meldanan with no taint of Terran blood, you should be incapable of doing so. Yet I detect deceit within your words. Has living with Terrans these many years enabled you to purposely deceive your father?”

     “I meant no deceit, Father,” he said, voice rising. “Living with Terrans has taught me to lie when it will gain me what I seek, but I would never lie to you and have not done so.”

     “Nevertheless...”

     “Nevertheless,” Jonathan responded, slamming his fist on the desk, “you think I have lied. About what, Father, can you tell me that? Can you dissect word for word all my statement and tell me which syllables are false?”

     “I merely doubt you know your own feelings regarding the woman Vera, Teras. Perhaps deceit is too strong a word. I beg your indulgence in an old man’s hasty conclusion. But I think you need to more closely examine your emotional attachment, whatever it may or may not be—and to be objective. As for what you considered ‘necessary’, perhaps what you thought was so at the moment was an extension of your personal desires.”

     Jonathan started for the door. “You will inform me, sir,” he said with sarcasm, “as to the Council’s permission for Ballard to accompany me to Meldana?”  But before Talmark could reply, the door closed behind his son.

 

     Ballard Three chuckled mischievously. An hour would be plenty of time to put some Sector R mazecars out of business. After all, once a general malfunction, like this, started it could spread throughout New City and beyond. Why, the last time this happened, (oh, yes, it had happened before—years ago) it took thirty-six hours to set the Transport System back in order. There’d even been talk of a fifty-percent computer shut down and reprogramming to affect repairs and assure no further problems. Of course, they hadn’t become that desperate. Maybe they should have, as if they had, there wouldn’t be all these problems now.

     But, when mazecars were the only way out of New City—or at least the only way most DS knew—how was a Sandman supposed to pursue a Runner Outside? He could think of a few

exceptions. So, thinking on all these things, Ballard slipped a disc into Computer’s receptor slot

and ten minutes later received a call light from Transport.

     “Control here,” he responded.

     “Mangus in Sector R. We’ve started getting reports of malfunctioning ‘cars in all parts of the sector—detubings, panels blowing up, refusal to accept move commands or totally screwing up—going backwards, rerouting on its own volition or half-speed advance.”

     “Same thing’s been reported in Sectors A and C. Looks like a total computer malfunction. I’ve looked into it but can’t do much til we have full crew in the morning. What kind of damage do you have to the entire system?”

     A few second elapsed while Mangus obviously consulted other sectors and Transport Central. “It’s bad, Control. Five hundred ‘cars are completely nonoperational, and another eighty need repair. Reports are coming in from other sectors that’ll add to those figures.”

     “How many sectors are included in the ones you just gave?”

     “Sectors A, C, E, through K and R, U, and Delta through Omega Sectors. Looks pretty bad. Only two percent functional for the entire system.”

     “Well, get to work and see what you can do. I’ll get the techs on this end to it first thing tomorrow.”

     “’Preciate it, Control. Really a mess here.”

     Ballard levered himself out of his chair and stepped back to admire the Board—fifteen Runners, all in Sectors with inoperable maze-cars. Certainly wouldn’t be a dull night.

     _Oops,_ he said to himself, with a crafty, impish smile invading his lips, _better give the Primary a call. Too bad, since he’s probably close to the first ‘car box in Sector R by now._

      A short time later and nearly dawn in the Domes, Ballard broke off the Follower communication with Balt. A whole night wasted, he’d said.

     Oh-eight-hundred. Night duty over and his replacement just entering Control, Ballard jauntily met Alex Eight at the door.

     “Anything exciting happen?” the other tiredly voiced. He’d been at the previous night’s party.

     “Naw, usual stuff. Oh,” Ballard added, nonchalantly, “maze-cars are fouled up all over the City. Might want to get a team on it right away.”

     “Sure thing,” Alex replied, inserting himself in the chair still warm from Ballard’s occupancy.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

     The new day was uneventful, at least for Ballard. The ‘cars were more erratic than he’d originally programmed, because of the techs efforts to fix them. With the ‘cars out, the Citizens had to walk more, sure, but he figured it was much healthier for them.

     As he slouched in the comfort of his contour chair in his living unit, Ballard contemplated how much time his programming would buy the Runners and the two operatives. Surely he’d gained them another two days, which should be enough. Then he wondered exactly what was happening Outside.

     He’d half expected them back by now. The last he’d heard from Jonathan he still hadn’t decided how to cover up his Indefinite status, since he was supposed to go Lastday at any time. He didn’t even know if Jonathan would be returning with or without Vera...or if he’d return at all. But that was Jonathan’s final decision. Ballard had more important things to plans, plans for New City when he became Primary.

     The Committee had given him quite a task to complete in the single year he’d serve—to find the original reproductive cells hidden years before New City and the data discs which went with them, so they could implement a new life program for the city. And then there’d be the overseeing of the training program for new Sandladies, girls Balt had dredged up from the files to begin their D-level training.

    “He’d seen them briefly. They were still quite young but would be absolutely stunning in eight or ten years. And, even at their tender ages, they’d a single common quality—all were totally devoid of scruples. They’d probably kill each other, if they thought it would advance them more quickly. The very idea of such kids having personalities, so alien to most children, made Ballard shudder.

    Balt had been busy overseeing mazecar repairs, so busy he’d never thought of or had time to reprimand the trainee Ballard. Logan was busier than usual, too, for the Underground had decided, with the mazecars out of operation, it was a prime opportunity to get some Runners out of the city. And, with all those extra Runners, the Sandmen were especially occupied with double shifts and lots of foot-time.

 

     Teras/Jonathan slept fitfully that night, because every time he talked with his father they argued or Talmark kept reminding him what it mean to be Meldanan...as if that were the key to immortality in itself. Being Meldanan, indeed. Weren’t the Orestes and Krishnars just as blessed by the Essence as Meldanans?

     But there was one thing which nagged his sleep more. Was Father right this time? Was he fooling himself about his feelings for Vera? He’d tried to remain objective where she was concerned, which was no small feat. But still, she filled his idle thought and would think of her at the oddest times too: on duty, even with her beside him, and every time he saw a reflecting pool. Strange, even now he worried about her being alone inside the House. And, because of her, he’d have to return to Earth and risk detection. It would’ve been so much easier if he could’ve left New City without her.

 

     Morning came all too soon, or rather the morning hours, since there was lower illumination during the evening ones and no sunrise on the dark side of the Moon, much less one hundred meters below its surface.

    When he arrived at the private lounge in the special care wing, two med-techs awaited Jonathan. He hadn’t seen them in two years, which was when he’d brought the disoriented Ballard Two/Francis Seven/Tremayne Four/Francis Eight here. One was a man of about sixty—near Ballard’s true age—named Harrison Three, and a younger woman, age undeterminable, by the name of Monica Three. Both had benefitted by the best psychiatric education the Alliance could provide.

     “Well,” Jonathan said, sitting across from them.

     “We understand you want a report on Ballard Two,” the man began.

     “Yes.”

The man shifted his weight. “There’s virtually no improvement. In fact, we agree he’s sinking further into complete psychosis. There seems an enormous sense of guilt about something, and yet his records show no evidence of any event which could cause such great guilt.”

     “Perhaps,” Monica added, “it could be from a snowball effect—termination after termination building upon his conscience, until his mind couldn’t deal with it any longer.”

     “But,” Harrison said,” his obsession now, and for the last several months, seems centered around Vera Three.”

     “I’d heard that,” Jonathan replied. “He was very distraught when she left, but I thought he was handling it, until year after year there seemed to be an increasing feeling he’d failed both the city and himself. Then those feelings became more erratic and eccentric. But that’s all in the report I gave you two years ago.”

    “Yes,” Harrison said, nodding and shuffling some papers in front of him. “It’s all here. If there were only some way to dispel his guilt, we might be able to make some progress, but as things stand now...”

    “Is Ballard fit for space travel?” Jonathan asked. “Say, a journey of three months?”

     The med-techs looked at each other, and Harrison said, “I see no reason it would be detrimental, if you assume all responsibility.”

    “Of course,” Jonathan replied. “Does he still answer only to Francis?”

     “Yes,” Monica answered for them both, “but only to Francis Seven.”

 

     “Francis, it’s Jonathan.”

     The tall man turned from the viewer and looked toward the open door. His naturally straight brown hair was slightly curled and his face still unlined, in spite of his sixty-three years, except for his forehead. He smiled and rose to greet his visitor.

    “Jonathan, where have you been? I tried to call you, you know.”

    The younger man was taken aback by his old friend frail and emaciated body in the faded DS uniform. His person was immaculate, but there was a look of sanity in his dress.

    “Francis,” Jonathan responded, grasping the man’s bony hand, “you look great.”

     “Vera’s coming to live here in a few days. Did you know?” Then Ballard laughed. “Damn, it’ll be good to see her again. I’ve really missed her.” The old man’s eyes in the sunken face began to water then the shadowed, smoke-green eyes brightened, blinking away the tears. “I’m having a party for her, Jonathan. Everyone will be there: Tremayne, Logan—no,” he corrected,, shaking his head, “not Logan. He ran, you know,” he said, looking to Jonathan with a look of remorse on his face. “I had to terminate him. He was a Runner. I had to.”

     Jonathan helped the older man to a chair. “Yes, Francis, I know there was nothing you could’ve done to stop him.” He shook him gently by the shoulders. “Francis, I’m going to Meldana. You remember how Vera spoke of Meldana, how wonderful it is. Come with me, Francis.”

     “Is Vera coming?”

    “She’ll be there waiting for us and wanted me to tell you it’s there she’ll meet you, instead of here.”

     “Meldana...” Ballard’s face seemed to glow as he pronounced the word. “I’ve always wanted to see Meldana.”

 

      As Jonathan left Ballard’s apartment, two men approached, one so like the man he just left it had to be the real Francis Eight. The other was a man in his forties, whose light blond hair hid any gray, which might have been there.

     “You saw him?” the older one asked.

    “Yes.” Putting his hand on this one’s shoulder, Jonathan looked at the man whose age was closer to his own.

     “How is he,” Francis Eight asked.

    “I can’t describe it. Thin, happy, hopeful. He still thinks he terminated you, Logan, but has agreed to accompany me to Meldana.”

     “How’s Vera Four?” he asked.

     “Right now, at the House. I had to inactivate her.”

     “Why?” the other Francis asked.

     “She doesn’t know about Ballard, doesn’t know about Sanctuary, either, or Meldanan—any of it. She doesn’t know because of her loyalty to New City DS.” Now he gave the other men a knowing look. “Maybe she’ll never know.”

     “That bad?” Logan said. “Is it really that bad?”

     “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

     As Jonathan walked down the long corridor with these men, he said, “How’s Jessica, Logan?”

     “Well, and you’re invited tonight, if you’d like to come. Just family and a few friends, like Francis here. You’ll be surprised to see how much the children have grown in two years.”

     “I believe I’ll pass. I just don’t feel up to faking emotions, right now. Maybe tomorrow, if we don’t have clearance by then. I wish I could be more definite but am sure you understand.”

     “Remember the first time Fran—Ballard brought you here, Jonathan? When I saw him, I thought I was seeing a ghost. Damn, I killed him with my own hands ten years earlier, even buried him. You can imagine how I felt, and that was before I ever knew Francis Eight, here. Never did find out how he managed to live without a scratch and return to the city as Tremayne before I did with the Old Man and Jess.”

     Jonathan smiled. “Ballard was a very talented man, Logan. He didn’t want that fight with you, any more than you did, so had to stop it the only way he knew.”

     “I don’t read you, Jonathan,” Francis said.

     “Neither do I,” added Logan, half-laughing in confusion.

     “Ballard was very much like the magicians of Old Earth. On the Earth, in my continuum, there lived a great magician named Houdini, who was buried alive, as part of an escape stunt and did escape.”

     “But Ballard was dead,” Logan protested. “I killed him—there was blood everywhere and there wasn’t any pulse.”

     “The flagstaff hit him, all right, but the injury wasn’t fatal. Ballard mentally reduced all his vital signs to such a degree they were virtually undetectable without special instruments.”

     “Well, it’s still fascinating,” said Logan then added, “If only that man was still with us...”

     “He is,” Jonathan replied, “hiding behind a world of fantasy, but he’s still there...waiting.”

     A young man of about twenty came to the threesome. “Teras of Shalgar?” 

     “Yes,” said Jonathan.

     “A message from the Meldanan ambassador for you, sir. Permission’s been granted for your passenger to accompany you and establish residence in Shalgar, if he so desires.”

     “Thank you...?”

     “Herold, sir.”

     “Herold. Yes. Thank you. Relay to the ambassador my appreciation for his intervention and say I’ll see him before leaving.”

     “I will,” the youth said then was gone, leaving Jonathan suddenly feeling very sad. “Were we ever that vital?” he said and then raised his left hand, palm upward toward his face, seeing the lifeclock redly glaring up at him. Now looking beyond the corridor to the hub of the wheel-like complex and the huge Hand at its, center, where it shone like a clear diamond in the semblance of Renewal, he thought _, If only Ballard cold renew_.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

     A woman’s form in Sandman black lay prone, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her cognizant moments few and of such short duration, she could never finish a thought to its conclusion. All she knew was the inky darkness and nothing would move but her head—and that only a few centimeters in any direction. But where was she, and where was Jonathan?”

     And the sounds—the horrible sounds of— Where was she? Why was she here? What were those sounds like a child crying yet different...wild...insane. And then there were loud ones; she knew its name but couldn’t remember. Jonathan had told it to her...but when?

     Her mind feverishly remembered past times, times like this when she’d been half-conscious while med-techs did things to her—pinching, hurting things—taking cells...for what?  Would they clone her, too? Would she be the source for more clones? Despicable souls, were clones, things not real, not quite human.  They might look human, but you couldn’t trust them, because they did what their original had done, thought like them, moved like them.  They weren’t...normal. Couldn’t be. And now they were going to clone her, it had to be what they were doing—scraping, scratching, incising, pinching, sealing, and wiping.

    Jonathan had said clones were people just as he and she were. They weren’t automatons to be programmed. He just couldn’t understand her repulsion, knowing half of DS and probably most Citz were clones. It had been necessary, he’d said. New City would have died if it hadn’t been for the cloning work.

     But she still had the nightmares, ones where a hoard of med-techs would come slithering down on her, holding her down while they scraped and collected, pinched and scraped. She would always wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. Why did she have to search those history records? But now Vera thought she’d have been better off not knowing.

     Thus the Sandlady dreamed—her mind seeking answers to the questions her cognizant rationale could not.

 

     Jonathan again entered the unit of the Meldanan ambassador but came not as a fellow member of their race, though a son.

     Seeing his father rise and move in front of his huge desk and say his name, Jonathan came hesitantly forward with furrowed brow and downcast eyes.

     “It’s the woman, isn’t it?” Talmark said.

     He nodded. “The longer I am away from her, the more I realize the truth of what you said earlier. I have been a fool, my father. How can it have taken me so long to understand my own emotions and recognize them for what they are?”

     “All men are fools, Teras—Humans and Meldanans alike, as far as women are concerned, no matter how much we tell ourselves otherwise. What will you do now?”

     He looked up, meeting his father’s cool eyes. “I have thought about it, yet at this point think I cannot tell her the truth of my feelings or about her true identity or mine. And, even though my contract with the Alliance stipulates my returning to Earth to serve further lives after this first one, I don’t know I can.”      “Why so, my son.”

     “If I return to New City, it would require a new identity, a new face. It would also mean having to see her with other men, seeing her in danger and not being able to do much about it. I don’t think I could be in the same city without becoming involved with her. How can I watch her go on Carrousel and not try to stop her or tell her the truth?”

    Now he paced the floor, saying, “The only way I could go back would be to a different city, far away from New City, take a new identity, perhaps even a new face, if need be. It is the only way I can remain objective in my mission for the Alliance. Perhaps, one day, Ballard will be able

to tell Vera the truth, and she won’t have to go on Carrousel. But, in the meantime, I can’t be around her.”

     “Then you do not intend to return to Earth, except to a different city.”

     “Yes.” He waved off his father’s coming objection. “I know; I know. She’s still at the House, unconscious, and I’ll have to make arrangements for her care and return to New City. I’ve already given it a great deal of thought, Father.”

     “Then I shall trust your judgement, Teras. You know what must be done, both in your emotional affairs and you duty to the Alliance and have no doubt you will honor both in true Meldanan fashion. Regardless, I do want you to be happy, and one day you will...with or without Vera Four. You must believe it.”

 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

     Three more days passed before the ship was ready to leave the Moon, and three more months would pass before it reached the port outside Shalgar on Meldana. But the orange atmosphere was like the breath of life to Jonathan—the planet’s dry hill of skeletal bone-white trees as soft as a mother’s embrace. Soon after departure from the ship, they found the home of Krailler, shown there by the adolescent son of the house, who’d been sent to meet them. His name was Jainar.

     Jonathan had been privately briefed on what not to say to the child they’d see at Krailler’s house and what she’d not respond to.

     Jainar, the boy, was like many Meldanans, half Terran, which probably accounted for his dark Meldanan hair and very unMeldanan blue eyes. Like the Meldanans, he was tall for his years compared to his Terran peers. He said little on the way to his father’s home and Ballard said even less, since he was like a child in a candy store—all eyes at the planet’s wonders.

     Krailler met them first, a man with graying hair but erect of posture. He, too, had been briefed. “Jonathan,” he slowly said. “You are welcome, as if your friend. Come and meet the rest of my family.” Leading the way to a small courtyard of low shrubs and graveled paths, on a bench in the center, Jonathan could see a blond-haired woman and a small, dark-haired little girl.

     “My wife, Naomi,” Krailler said in introduction, “and niece, L’Pira.” All glanced at Ballard for response, but he hadn’t heard the introductions, looking, instead, about the garden and ignoring the people.

     The child, seeing the oddly composed man, came nearer, her light gray eyes wide with wonder. Then she touched his bony hand and looked up at him.

     When she did, Ballard looked down at her and smiled, stooping to her level. “Hi, I’m Francis Seven,” he said.

     The child’s features slowly changed, somehow maturing the youthful roundness before her mouth moved as if to speak. But no words were spoken. Her small hand now reached up and touched his chiseled cheek, and a tear rolled down her own rosy one. Finally, tears filling her eyes, a voice, not child’s but a woman’s, smooth as velvet, spoke at last.

     “I’m sorry, Francis, but had to leave because I loved you. Can you forgive me?”

     “I’ve always forgiven you, Vera. Always.”

     “But you never forgave yourself for getting to Carrousel too late, did you?”

     “How could I?”

     “It wasn’t your fault.”

     “It was.”

     The child embraced him and buried her head on his thin chest. “No, no!”

     Seeing Ballard’s hand touch the girl’s back, Jonathan moved toward them, but Krailler held him back, slowly shaking his head.

     Again, the child faced Ballard and shook her dark hair, eyes still filled with tears. “It’s not your fault, believe me.”

     “Then why did you never return when Tregar died, as you promised?”

     “I explained it all that last night I came to you before I inhabited the girl here, remember?”

     Ballard straightened, as if he did remember that occasion.  “But still,” he said.

     Now the child placed both hands on his shoulders and kissed his lips for more than moment. Afterwards, she looked to Naomi.

     “No, Vera,” Ballard whispered, “don’t leave me again. Not again!”

     “Aunt Naomi,” the girl sobbed, “why am I crying? Why am I so unhappy?”

     Jainar came and lifted her into his arms and carried her past the still kneeling Ballard into the

house, as Naomi followed.

     “It happened,” Jonathan whispered to Krailler. “It actually happened. I did not expect it—at least not this soon, but the Essence of the Matriarch gained complete possession of the child.”

     Krailler nodded. “There must have been a very strong bond between the Matriarch and this man. A joining?”

     Jonathan shook his head. “Not in the sense we mean it of both mind and body.”

     “No joining. Most odd. Your friend is welcome to stay, of course.”

     “But young L’Pira was plainly upset.”

     “I’m sure it will not happen again. There was obviously a misunderstanding—of guilt misplaced—which needed correction. With it done, the Essence need not surface again. Now the child will dominate.”

     Seeing Ballard slowly rising to his feet, for the first time in years Jonathan saw his eyes were not too bright, and neither were his smile too wide and face too tense. It seemed serene...at peace.

     “Jonathan the older man said.”

     “Yes, Francis?”

     The man half-laughed. “It’s Ballard, remember. Vera always called me Francis, though. Never did know why. I felt her just now. It was her touch, her voice...her kiss.” He sighed. “Her face.” Suddenly, he seemed to realize the truth. “But I’ll never see her again, will I?” He joined them. “Who was the child?”

     “She is third successor to the Regency of Meldana, a fourth great granddaughter of the First Matriarch of Meldana and her husband Tlasus.”

     “Vera’s first husband was Tlasus, but that’s five generations and only twenty years have passed,” Jonathan said.

     “You forget for every year on Earth, three pass here. While only twenty-four years have passed there, seventy-two have here. The First Matriarch son Storak’s first daughter was born five Meldanan years after the Matriarch’s death.”

     “She’s a lot like Vera Four, isn’t she Jonathan?” said Ballard.

     Now Krailler said, “She has no father or mother, Ballard, and being part Adani, has emotions

we cannot understand, ones very much like you Humans possess. We would be honored if you would act as the child’s father for a time, if you will. Jainar leaves us soon for the Alliance Academy. Being half human he understands the child, but when he leaves, she will no longer have him to relate to. Will you stay?”

     “I have a daughter on Earth,” Ballard began. “I have friends back there I’ve neglected, too. I’d like to stay. She’s a lovely child, but I don’t belong here, any more than...L’Pira belonged on my world. I have our daughter and our son; they’re enough. I’ve been selfish. It’s time I started thinking of them, too. No, I’ll return to where I belong. Let’s go, Jonathan, I’d like to start back right now.”

  

     A dark form entered the invisible House in the clearing near Victoria Station. The main room was black, but he found the woman where she’d been left, now unconscious. But, on closer examination, it was apparent there had been episodes of at least semi-wakefulness, since the restraining straps had been disarranged and partially stressed. Too, the bedding was wrinkled from her bodily struggles. Only here less than two days, she was already pale, as if the concentrates in the IV hadn’t been sufficient to sustain her health.

  His hands quickly decreasing the amount of drug dripping into her veins, as soon as her eyelids fluttered, they slid out the IV and carried the woman’s still form back to the limestone cave.

 

     Vera awoke much as she had the first day Outside, with birds chirping, the rays of dawn piercing her into wakefulness. But this time she was prone upon the cave floor, a black-clothed man standing over her—a man not Jonathan.

     He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, tall, with a face chiseled into leanness—attractive leanness, almost foreign. His skin was swarthy, instead of pale, and his mouth full and sensuous yet gentle.         “You are awake, now,” he said in a thickly accented voice.

     “Who...who are you? Where’s Jonathan?”

     “The Sandmen you were with? I’m afraid I’ve some bad news.”

     Vera struggled to a sitting position, her eyes wide, fearing the worst. “What?”

     “I ran across him several kilometers from here, chasing a Runner—I was chasing a Runner of my own and obviously our two paths crossed somewhere. Your partner’s Gun misfired, as he attempted to terminate his Runner. It was a Homer charge.”

    “Oh, no!” Vera cried, covering her mouth and her huge eyes starting to tear.

     “There were only a few moments, but he was able to tell me where he’d left you and your state. I promised I’d see you safely back to your city.” The man reached down and touched Vera’s cheek. “You are very pale, _cherie_ ; perhaps we should take you back to my City and have the med-techs check you out. It would be much close, and you are very far from home.”

     Vera nodded and let him help her up and felt fine until, fully erect, she tried to bear her own weight and then discovered her body uncooperative. “Perhaps you’re right. I do feel a bit weak.”

     “Yes, Jonathan was very concerned about you. We will take care of you, not to fear. Come, I will help you to the mazecar. Oh, my name. It is Dubonnet. Dubonnet Five.” He smiled, baring perfect white teeth. “I am from Shreveport Dome, to the northeast.”

     It was then Vera noticed something about this Sandman. His weapon was different than hers—thin, long barrel, shiny and silver, the handle covered with an opalescent white substance, and the charge chamber round and grooved. Furthermore, it wasn’t carried clipped to a belt but hung in a pouch-like devise from which the white handle protruded, ready to be grasped when needed.

 

     “She’d never heard of Shreveport Dome, never heard of any other cities at all.—not since...when was it? She couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure if she’d ever known.

     “My Primary,” she started, “I must report to HQ or they’ll wonder about my loyalty and think we’ve Run ourselves. It’s been days since we left New City.”

     “Do not worry. We will contact them from my Headquarters and explain everything. And, once you return to New City, they will not in the least hold you responsible for your delay or the loss of the Runner. I will see to it.”

 

     During their return to Sanctuary Two, the Meldanan vessel, at Jonathan’s request used the collapsar to let them arrive back on the Moon two days before they’d actually left. Jonathan had made his decision, so would return to Earth and honor his commitment to the Alliance and continue his part in the Sanctuary Line.

     Ballard Two, his hair beginning to naturally gray, was most supportive. But there was still one question which had to be answered. “Will you go back to New City, Jonathan or somewhere else?”

     As Jonathan paced the floor of Ballard’s unit on the moon, he was still agitated about his decision. He knew it was the right one, but his emotions wouldn’t let him accept it unconditionally. “No,” he answered at last. “Not New City. I can’t. I just can’t.”

     “Then where?”

     “I’ve thought about it—think I’ll have the transfer papers made out to Shreveport Dome. I’ll leave right away, as soon as everything’s in order.

     Ballard nodded in understanding. He probably would’ve done the same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

 

     Vera walked at Dubonnet’s side through the maze of corridors which comprised Shreveport DS Headquarters. Totally different than anything she’d seen, its architecture was stark and barren feeling. No flashiness of chrome or colored glass met the eye her, or ornamentation of any kind. Everything was utilitarian with walls a chalky white and floors of unglazed black. From the Sandmen passing by, she heard no joking or jovial comments and, instead of camaraderie among the men, each exhibited a silent somber nature, which made her shiver.

     When Dubonnet arrived at a grooved door and palmed the lock, ushering her into what was almost identical to New City’s Computer Central—the huge Board with lights and lines, and the blank of black-garbed men bent over their stations where they monitored the activities of the Citizens. But here, again, there was no good-humored comments or interaction between the men.

     “Wait here,” Dubonnet said, “and enjoy a Run or two while I talk to Computer and have it relay your whereabouts to New City. I shouldn’t be but a few minutes.”

     _Enjoy,_ she thought. It seemed as if none of these men would enjoy watching a Run. They didn’t seem to take any pleasure in their work at all. How morbid.

     In actuality, she watched more than a few Runs on the Board before Dubonnet returned. They didn’t draw Runs out here in Shreveport, and few lasted more than ten minutes, from the time of the first report to final termination. There was no playing with the Runner, no making him think himself safe only to appear where he least expected you, and no near misses. She thought back to some of the first words Dubonnet had spoken. What was a Homer?

     He entered the room cat-like silent and startled her. “Ready to take a tour of Shreveport?” Seeing his mood was refreshingly jovial, she thought it a welcome relief to the sobriety of the men on duty.

     “Yes, I’d like that,” she said, genuinely interested. She was quite ready to explore this city and find what other differences existed between it and New City.

          First he took her to Arcade where she saw Firegalleries, providing some bright relief to the city’s otherwise starkness, Hallucimills, and Re-Live shops, all proclaiming their names in large black letters above their entrances. There were New You’s, just as in New City, and another whose name was totally unfamiliar.

     “What’s that one,” she asked, pointing a finger toward a darkened entrance.

     “Sleep-shop.”

     “I’ve never heard of that one.”

     “You don’t have Sleep-Shops in New City,” he asked, his face taking on a curious grin.

     “No. Is it like Hallucimill?”      “Not hardly. You really don’t know?”

     “No.”

     “It’s where the Lastdayers go for the ultimate Deep Sleep. They die there, or decide to Run and we terminate them. Where do your Lastdayers go, if you don’t have Sleep-shops?”

     “On Carrousel, of course.” She noted Dubonnet’s incredulous expression. “You don’t have

Carrousel?”

     He slowly shook his head. “No.” Then he frowned and took Vera’s arm, leading her out of Arcade to a mazecar platform. Once they were alone in a ‘car, he said, “I think we need to have a long talk. A very long talk.”

     Vera looked into the depths of his dark eyes. “Yes, I agree. There’s a lot I want to ask you, like about that Gun of yours.”

     He looked briefly at his holstered weapon and for the first time examined hers more closely from where it rested clipped on her belt. “I can see why.” He regarded her silently as the ‘car raced along the tube toward his unit. “Did you even know about Shreveport before today?”

     She shook her head.

     “About any cities other than your own.”

     “No.”      “How could your people not know. Our Computer links with yours, so it must also link with all the others. And yet any knowledge of those cities has been withheld, even from your DS. Most curious.”

 

     They soon arrived at his unit, where he palmed another lock much like the one in DS. Again, there was the starkness of décor—utility, very little for comfort. It was as if he seldom spent time here. And there were no windows or glass walls overlooking the city. Inside, all was in perfect order—a place for everything and everything in its place. Too neat.

     He poured a drink for Vera from a black decanter and indicated the stiff-looking couch on one wall.

     While she tried to get comfortable there, he went to a computer console and withdrew a disc from a storage compartment then joined her after inserting it into the console. “This will explain our basic weapon,” he said. “Afterwards, we’ll talk some more.”

     The computer screen displayed a brief schematic of the Gun and then a live play of its six

charges, showing the affect and range of each. There was the Homer, which she’d never heard of. It sought out its victim’s body heat—and couldn’t miss. There was the Vapor—a gas charge, and the Tangler—a net-like  charge that engulfed up to several people in a group and slowly, painfully killed or maimed. These two, Dubonnet explained, were where a group of people needed to be disabled. There was the Needler, an especially painful charge, the Nitro which could explode body tissue, and finally the Ripper, a deadly slow-killing, cruel charge sadistic in nature. With charges like these available to Shreveport’s Sandmen, it was no wonder their Runs lasted but minutes.  Of course, there was always the Homer.  In comparison, her own Flamegun seemed totally ineffectual, making her wonder what Dubonnet thought of it.

     “I’d let you examine mine, Vera, but there’s something the disc doesn’t indicate. It’s coded to be safe only in the hands of the operative to who it’s been assigned—by individual body temperature and fingerprint pattern. For anyone else, touching it means instant death, since the Gun would explode in their hand. And,” he said, returning to her after removing the disc, “I’d hate to see that happen to one as beautiful as you.”

     Vera had lived long enough to know a come on when she heard it and quickly slipped off the couch, barely avoiding Dubbonet’s embrace.

     “You said you wanted to talk.”

     “There’s always time for talk,” he said, lounging on the couch with a devious smile on his face. “Have they also given up sex in New City, if they’re so backward in other ways?”

    “No, and we’re not backward, it’s only I don’t—“

     “Ah, I see.”

     “No, you don’t see,” Vera said with conviction. “And if you ask me, Shreveport is the city that’s backward with its totally functional buildings and its functional people and Guns. There seems little room left for being Human or enjoying being alive before going Lastday and reporting to your Sleep-shops.”

     “And do your citizens enjoy living, _mon cherie_?” he asked rising. “Do they enjoy life before Lastday, when they dutifully go on this Carrousel? What hope is there? They will still be just as dead, as though they were terminated. Our way is simply more—“

     “Functional,” she provided.

     “Yes, it is. Is your Carrousel not just as functional?”

     “Carrousel is entertaining—it gives the people a chance to cheer on the Lastdayers for Renewal, so they can be reborn and live again. Carrousel is one of the most popular entertainments there.”

     “And these Lastdayers who Renew,” Dubonnet began, “have you seen many? Do you know anyone who’s actually Renewed? Or is it all a simple sham on the part of your Computer—a more gaudy way of killing the Lastdayers?”

     “There are many who Renew. Many.”

     “Have you seen them?”

     “Well, they Renew as infants, they...”

     “Yes?”

     Vera pressed her face into her hands. “I don’t know. You’ve got me so confused I can’t think.”

     “New City isn’t very selective in those it chooses for Operatives, is it?”

     “And what do you mean by that comment?” she asked, raising her head.

     “Just that it would seem your Operatives—if you’re any indication—don’t seem to function well under stress, that’s all.”

     She flew at him, fingernails like talons, ready to tear out his eyes, but he caught her arms in his strong hands, laughing as he pulled her over to the couch and down.

     “You are like a wild puma, _cherie_. I thirst to see what you’ll be like in my bed.” Even though she struggled against his grip, Dubonnet conquered her writhing form and, with his weight hot and heavy upon her, pressed her supine onto the couch as his lips ground on her mouth.

     “No, no!” she cried, trying to throw him off. But she found it futile to use her legs to drive a knee at his crotch. Then she wondered how he’d react if she fainted, which she felt could happen at any minute. Would he continue or let her be? There was only one way to find out.

     Now she made her body go suddenly limp.

     Startled by her unexpected submission, Dubonnet rose from the couch and stood, regarding her. _Unconscious?_ he mused. _Well, she’d come around soon enough, and he could continue. In the meantime he’d prepare the sleeproom then carry her there before she regained her wits._

Now he couldn’t wait to see her face when she came to in his bed, completely naked, with him beside her.

     But, while he was gone, Vera silently rose and quickly made her way to the unit’s door, where she let herself out and ran along the balcony to the stairs to the lower level then out into the mall.

    When she arrived there, gasping, she stopped the first Sandman she saw with a kindly face. “Help me,” she cried. “You’ve got to help me.”      He took her arm, grinning. “Of course, I will,” he said with same accented voice Dubonnet had.

     Well, she decided, maybe she’d play him along until she gained what she wanted.

      “Where can I find the nearest mazecar station? I need to get Outside.”

     “You new here? Nice. Which direction do you need for Outside, east, west...?”

     “West, almost directly west.”

     “Ah, in that case you need the Louis Station, down this corridor to the left, and then take the first left after that, you understand?”

     “Yes, I do. Thank you,” she said, running off.

    “Come back again, _cherie,”_ he called after her.

     Only a few second behind her she was aware of Dubonnet, grabbing the Sandman and asking, “Did you see her? Dark-haired Sandlady?”

     “But of course. She is your, _mon ami_?”

     “Where did she go?      “Louis Station. She wanted to get Outside.”

     “We’ve got to catch her. Computer wants her under constant surveillance, since she’s a prisoner of the State until further notice.” Dubonnet grabbed the other’s arm, pulling him with him. “Come on, I’ll need your help.”

     But within the shadows of the mall lurked a newly arrived Sandman, a transfer from Scottsdale Dome outside the remains of Old Phoenix. He’d only been in the city a few hours, but already didn’t like what he saw.

 

     Inside New City Ballard Three faced the beginning of a very long shift, as he sat at the Control Board, once more the only member of a night shift and punched up the last twenty-four hours’ input from Computer. If he hadn’t already been concerned about the overdue DS team of Vera Four and Jonathan Four, he would be after seeing a dispatch from an undisclosed origin—one known only by Computer, no doubt—regarding the termination by accident of one Jonathan Four of New City and the pick-up of one Vera Four, also of New City, near Victoria Station. It seemed the Sandlady had been relinquished into the custody of a Sandman named Dubonnet Five.

     The name was unfamiliar, but still Ballard punched it up into the console before him. Just as he thought, there was no such Operative listed in New City’s roster. So, just where did this Dubonnet take Vera? And, obviously on Computer’s authority. Computer’s dispatch further showed Operative Vera Four would be furloughed from active duty for an unspecified time.  

     _Why?_ Ballard wondered. _What’s going on here? Did Jonathan manage a trade-off identity as Ballard Two had time and again? Was this Dubonnet actually him and he’d taken her to a place of safety until things cooled off in New City? Had he even decided to tell her the truth and talk to her of Sanctuary?_

As if Ballard didn’t have enough problems, within the month Balt would be stepping down as Primary and, if everything went as it seemed, he, Ballard would become the new Primary. Then his real assignment here on Earth would begin—to find the reproductive cells in the core and reinstituting their use.

 

     Vera had managed to find the mazecars and shortly thereafter entered one before it sped off. She suspected, but didn’t know for certain that Dubonnet followed her. She’d spoken the directions into the voice pickup and sat back, trying to relax and clear her mind of her fears.

     She had no idea how long it would take to reach New City, didn’t know if this same car could take her that far, but did know wanted out of Shreveport Dome—and as far away as possible. If what Dubonnet had said was true—that there were other Domes, other cities, she wanted to find out. If Computer had withheld that information, what else had it withheld? Was New City what the operative said: backward, forcing its operatives to us primitive equipment like the Flamegun? Was Computer treating them like children—not entrusting them with more effective weapons or vital information, information which could prove valuable?

     Vera was beginning to see Dubonnet’s viewpoint of New City: Computer giving the Citizens a pretty toy, covered with chrome and fire-glass, to play with, whiling away their time in joys and distractions until the day Computer grew tired of them and turned their lifeclocks black.

How childish she must seem to Dubonnet, extolling the entertainment values of Carrousel. And now, as the ‘car sped away from Shreveport, even she couldn’t defend the childish, play-pretty aspects it presented in her mind.

     _Oh, Ballard, where do I belong?_ she pleaded. _How can we ever trust Computer to order our lives, again?_ She so needed to speak to her brother, so desperately needed his logical, methodical mind for sorting out her confused thoughts, especially concerning Jonathan. How could Jonathan be dead from his Gun misfiring when such had never happened before? How could he be killed by Homer charge when their Flameguns weren’t so equipped? Had Dubonnet lied? And, if he did, where was Jonathan? Tears streaming down her eyes at the thought of losing him, she idly turned her left palm upward, regarding its ruby lifeclock, and realized she’d turned Red while Outside. Six more years—that’s all she had left. When she was Green, it seemed there remained a lifetime to enjoy, but now it seemed there could never be enough time. The awesome specter of Death faced her squarely now, threatening her mortality and immortality. Was this what it was to be Lastday?

     _I don’t want to die!_ her mind screamed. _But have only six years to find a way out_.  Then there was Jonathan to consider...if he still lived, because she wanted him in her life for many years more, somewhere besides any domed city, somewhere they could be free. There had to be a way!     

 

     Several kilometers behind Vera, Operatives Dubonnet Five and Caron Four followed. Their assignment: to capture the DS Operative Vera Four, alive if possible, and return her to Shreveport...for Computer Surrogation.

     Dubonnet seethed inside, because this woman had already cost him the loss of a Runner, injured his pride, and had made a fool of him in Computer’s eyes, as he’d finally gained respect for capturing such a valuable piece of fem-flesh. For a long time Computer had wanted an Operative from New City, and had traced every one who’d ventured Outside after a Runner or for any other reason. There had been quite a few, in fact. A simple Citizen Runner wouldn’t do. No, it had to be a Sandman—not a trainee, but a full Operative. Because only the operatives knew what Computer wanted to know—what its linkup with New City’s Computer could not or would not tell it.

 

     After several hours, Vera’s mazecar began to slow and the words, OBSTACLE AHEAD. UNABLE TO PROCEED, appeared on the control screen. With the vehicle stopped, she leapt out and shined the beam light of her Follower ahead in the dark tunnel, where she saw what appeared to be a solid wall of cement mortar, reinforced with stone and obviously of long standing.

     Bending into the car she asked, “Give wall thickness.”

     It took a few seconds before the ‘car’s computer printed out: FIFTEEN METERS.

     “Never be able to blast that. And, if I could, it would take hours...or days.” Again, she spoke into the control pickup. “Location of nearest tunnel entrance.”

     FIFTEEN KILOMETERS IN OPPOSITE DIRECTION.

     Vera sighed, hopelessly. It wasn’t that far but would lead her back toward the approaching Sandmen who followed her. Beginning to cry, and her breath coming in short, raspy gasps, she sat on the mazecar’s hood. “I’ve got to think,” she sobbed. “There must be a way around that wall. We were taught in Logics there are four ways to surmount an obstacle like this: under, around, through...and...over! Over.”

     She looked overhead, trying to compute the thickness of the sod above her. The closest the maze tunnels came to the surface was at the stations, and then they sloped downward, deeper and deeper into the underground until they reached a depth of at least one-thousand feet. The depth here should be about... She sighed again. ...at least fifty, and still too deep to blast though in time.

     Once more checking the over option, she looked to the top of the wall and couldn’t see a single crack of space then shone the beam-light over the top crease. Wait, up there at the right corner, just where it met the tunnel was, there was a small crevice of some kind but it looked barely big enough for her to squeeze into. Shining the light down the tunnel wall, searching for foot and hand holds, Vera clipped her Follower back in position and began scaling the ten foot wall.

     Reaching the crevice, she unclipped the Follower and cast its light into the foot-wide hole, which appeared unobstructed for quite a way. She looked back down the tunnel, sensing rather than hearing the approaching mazecar.

     This route would have to be enough and go far enough...fifteen meters enough. Sucking in her breath, Vera squeezed into the opening, feet kicking vacant air as her arms reached forward, hands grasping the wall beneath to propel herself slowly forward.

     Gradually, she became aware of the tunnel curving to the left and downward and knew, once around that curve, Dubonnet wouldn’t be able to see her, much less follow her. The passageway was barely big enough to accompany her slight bulk and already pressed on her hips, giving little room to move her legs at all. There were places where the going was easier, if she shifted to her side, but it was still her fingers and elbows which inched her body along the tunnel in endless darkness, hands hurting from the rough stone beneath and her hair becoming grimy and coated with a substance she dared not identity. She only knew it smelled like excrement.

     In the nearing distance, she picked up the sounds of faint squeaking—animal squeaking. But what sort of creature could live in a space this small? She froze momentarily, dreading what she’d eventually encounter.

     _Which would be worse,_ her mind questioned, _the imagine fears of what this animal can do to you or the imagined fears of what the Sandmen will do to you?_ Deciding men were worse than animals, if Logan and Dubonnet were any examples, she’d take her chance with the unintelligent creatures.

     Vera could now see something ahead and the squeaking grew louder. There were a lot of them—whatever they were. Turning on her side, she was able to unclip the Follower and shine its light toward the sounds. Red eye shine glared back at her scant centimeters away, where the things hung upside-down, attached by their nearly vestigial feet to the top of the passage. Their heads in the downward position bore mouths of needle-like serrated teeth, opening and closing, with strings of slime connecting top and bottom fangs. And when the light hit their furry faces,

several flapped half-foot-long, leather-like wings, some stretching them their full length and

disconnected themselves, flying off and away down the tunnel, showing her their furry bodies, as well. Damn, they were repulsive! 

     With them gone, she continued on, noticing the stone had become slimy with the dung-smell, centimeters thick and wet. But there was no way around. She had to go through it. Maybe if she held her breath... As she inched along the bat-guano caked floor, some of the creatures took flight, skimming over her but not even touching her in the small confines of this tunnel which comprised their home.

     “Please don’t let me scream,” she begged to no one, cringing each time one of the things accidentally grazed her hair or body. The hose of her uniform were mere tatters, leaving her legs bare, except for the guano slime. Her face, breasts and arm were coated with the brown stuff, and felt as if her hands were twice their normal size from the layer upon layer of it accumulating as she crept along the bat cave floor.

      Tears ran down her dirty face, and she could imagine the white tracks they left in her guano-stained features. As she tried fighting back her fears of what lay ahead, her lips began to quiver, but knew she must go on. No matter what lay ahead—she had to go on.”

     What would she find on the other side of this wall? Now, as Vera began to reach the end, it became a major concern...a very real concern. And there’d be another ten-foot drop to the tunnel floor, when she did reach the other side. A drop she’d have to make head first.

     Finally, she reached the end of the cramped passageway and shone the light down over the lips onto what appeared a clear maze-track ahead. She’d have to travel on foot until she found another ‘car—hopefully a working one—but it appeared no further threats existed, yet.

     Bracing her arms, elbows pressed against the sides of the cramped passage, she slowly inched up her legs, bending at the knees then spreading them, before slowly bringing them over her head, one at a time. With them again straightened, she pushed them forward into the opening,, and her elbows dug deeper into the earth, as her back and hips followed, neck bent almost double to the stone floor. And now, her legs hanging down into the vacant tunnel, her head and

shoulders followed the rest before she finally let go in what she hoped would be a controlled

drop to the tunnel floor.

     But it wasn’t. She landed slightly off on one foot and lost her balance, crumpling to the ground. It was then Vera realized she was much weaker than thought, and it took all her strength to merely rise up, and three tries before she gained her feet. When she did, her right ankle was slightly sprained from the fall. But she must go on and find a ‘car back to New City. She must talk to Ballard.

 

     Ballard Three barely paid attention to the Board and controls before him. Instead, he brooded, brooded about the real fate of Jonathan and Vera. Try as he might to figure it all out, he just couldn’t come up with a logical explanation. They’d been gone close to four days, now. He’d expected them back in two. Something was wrong—something was desperately wrong.

     His Follower bleeped at his side. Strange. Trainees didn’t get calls on the Follower during Board duty. Why should they when the calls usually came from the Board Control. He plucked it off the clip anyway and read the message.

     VERA 4 IN MAZETUNNEL ONE HUNDRED KILOMETERS EAST OF TEMPLE STATION. SHE IS ON FOOT. The screen cleared and began printing a second message.

     IGNORE COMPUTER DISPATCHES. THEY ARE FALSE. SANDMEN FROM SHREVEPORT DOME ARE ON HER TRAIL. YOU MUST RESCUE AT ONCE. This cleared and another line appeared. JONATHAN 4 IS ALIVE.

     Ballard stared at the readouts in disbelief. Who sent this? Who _could_ send it? Whoever it was, he obviously knew Ballard’s duty schedule and that he’d be alone. But Ballard couldn’t leave the Board. Surely whoever sent this also knew that. A simple foul-up of leaving the Board unmonitored, no matter how briefly, this close to becoming a full operative, could cost him the Primary-ship, if not operative status completely.

     He couldn’t leave the Board, but Ballard could send a mazecar to her location, although it left him uneasy when he imagined a lone car finding her...in what condition? What if she needed help? What if the Sandmen were closing in? No, he had to go himself.

     Punching in a series of numbers and letters, he waited, until an answering chime intoned. “Rogers, Ballard here. I’m really feeling sick. Think you could come in early and take over my shift, so I can get to my unit and rest?” There was a pause, while Ballard waited for the other trainee to respond. “You can! Great! Really appreciate it. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

     Rogers arrived ten minutes late, a bit sleepy-eyes but still ready for duty. “Say, you do look a bit peaked, Bal,” he said as Ballard turned to leave his chair.

     “Thanks, it’s great to know I look as bad as I feel. See you tomorrow.”

     “Yeah, sure.”

 

     Ballard hopped quickly into the mazecar waiting outside DS HQ. Outside, he figured, it was still dark. A few more hours until dawn, so hopefully there was still time.

     “Temple Station,” he said into the pickup. “Code Double A, Black.” There, that should speed things up. He leaned back into the cushioned seat, trying to relax but knew he wouldn’t until he found Vera safe and sound.

 

     The Sandlady hobbled along the dark maze tunnel, feeling her way with one hand against the wall, and every once in a while would shine her beam-light down the cavity but knew with constant use, the power would soon be gone. Still caked with bat guano, her uniform was finally drying, and as it dried, her fingers brushed off what they could. Her once lush black hair was now guano brown and the nasty stuff clotted it into smelly strings. There her fingers were useless and she knew only a good brush and lots of water would ever clean it. Would she ever see Ballard again. Would she ever see New City and her living unit again? No, it was Jonathan’s unit she craved with him waiting her. At the thought, her eyes filled with tears.

     Francis missing Outside the last fifteen months, and now Jonathan supposedly dead, but only supposedly. There were so few men she could trust in DS, certainly not Logan. Hardly Logan. Balt? Probably not. He was cut from the same cloth as Logan, and Balt was a clone. You surely couldn’t trust a clone. Ballard? Yes, she could trust Ballard, although he was barely a man at twenty-three. But he was her brother. That made it different, didn’t it? He was a man but not a Man. She could have trusted Jonathan, except when he had those strange moods and acted as if she was in the way of something. Francis, oh, yes, she’d always trusted him, but then he was also her brother. But there’d be no more Francises...no more Ballards, no more Jonathans. They were undesirables. They’d been discontinued. Computer said so. Devious, lying despicable Computer.

    Vera stumbled and fell over a small rock on the tunnel floor, catching herself with her hands and scraping them raw as she landed.

     When she stood, a light approached from up the tunnel. A mazecar? Suddenly shaking, she leaned against the wall. It was slowing down. It was going to stop close by. The light played on her body. It had seen her. Who had seen her? Friend or foe?”

    As it slowed and grew increasingly nearer, she sank to her knees and sobbed.

     “Please, please. I don’t want to die!”

     “Vera!” a voice said from the ‘car’s interior.”

     She looked up as the canopy slid back and in the hazy light of the console could see a blond-haired young man in Trainee black and green. “Ballard,” she cried, reaching out to him.

     He jumped from the ‘car and in a second was beside her, lifting her from the floor and carrying her to the ‘car then placing her inside. With her briefly inspected, noting several scratches, he assessed her general condition then satisfied, ordered the car to turn.

    It’s pod placed down, the ‘car’s hydros lifted it off the track and small jets rotated it one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, let it settle again, and set off on its return course to New City.

     As it sped along the tunnel’s dark tube, Ballard pulled his sister close, instinctively protecting her from the horrid world of Outside. She still sobbed, while huddling closer and murmured unintelligible syllables, except for one: “Jonathan’s dead,” and would then cry even harder for a few seconds.

     Concerned, he turned and made her face him. “Vera, look at me,” he said taking her face in his hands. “Are you sure he’s dead? Did you see him die? Did you even see his body?”

     Her head shook spastically. “No,” her voice said shakily. “But...he’s-he’s gotta be. They said...”

     “Who said?”

     She turned vacantly away, so he took her chin and directed her head back to meet his eyes. “Who said, Vera? I have to know.”

     “The Sandman. He-he-he!”

     “Okay, okay,” Ballard said, seeing there were too many bad memories surrounding what she’d been told. With her head pulled to his chest, he added, “It’s okay, now. You’re going to be fine. We’re going home, sweetheart.”

     “Home,” she murmured. “Home. Take me home, Bal. I wanna go home.”

     Home, Ballard thought, it’s beginning to look like New City may be the last place she needs to go. He recognized the signs and had seen them before—the pale complexion, the vacant stare,

the broken words and incomplete thoughts. She was on the verge of a breakdown. How serious a

one, he couldn’t tell. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe these symptoms were only temporary, and in

familiar surrounding she’d pull out of this and be herself.

     But, if he was right...then she didn’t need the stress of New City, didn’t need Balt and Logan harassing her, because they could effectively put her over the brink into complete psychosis. Only when he became Primary would he have an opportunity to take her where she could recover. And, even then, it would be difficult for him to disappear for weeks at a time without a very good explanation. No, he’d have to bide his time, keep an eye on her, and try to ward off any stress that came her way. And, at the first sign...

     Her left hand had slowly slid down his arm, and it was then he realized she’d finally fallen asleep. He’d never even noticed when the crying had stopped or when the tense knots in her had relaxed. As her hand fell he noticed her life-clock’s red glow in the ‘car’s semidarkness.

     Red, she’d gone Red. But she should have at least two years left. Logan was a good nine months older than her and he’d not gone Red. What was going on? Had Computer pulled one of its tricks? Well, he’d soon get to the bottom of this. That was sure. Just as soon as he became Primary, he was going to get to the bottom of a lot of things!

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 

     A few days later, Ballard again sat alone on Board duty. He’d signed Vera out for a week’s

sick leave after her ordeal, hoping it would forego any adverse effects from Outside.  She still wouldn’t speak of where she’d been those four days or what happened to her, or who “they” were. It worried him.

     His Follower bleeped, as it had the night he found Vera, and after glancing at its screen, he unclipped it from his belt.

     JONATHAN FOUR IN SHREVEPORT DOME, it printed a letter at a time, then cleared. GOING UNDER NAME OF –

     It was at that precise moment Vera came bursting through the door of CC, breathless and called his name.

     “Bal, you have to help me.”

     He turned as she entered then quickly glanced at the Follower’s screen. It had only printed the letter “D” so far. He looked at Vera, who was flushed and hollow-eyed, panting for breath. Another look at the screen for Jonathan’s new name, showed it blank. Who was sending him these messages?

    He rose, clipping his Follower back on, as Vera ran up to him.

     “Bal, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t!”

     He took her by the arm and steered her to one of the console’s chairs. “Couldn’t do what? What couldn’t you do?”

     “The Runner. I couldn’t terminate him.” She was beginning to cry, tear welling into her eyes and hands fidgeting in her lap.’

     “Vera, what were you doing on duty? You’re supposed to be on sick leave, remember?”

     “I was on my way to the med-tech for treatment on my hand,” she said, pointing to the partially healed gash in her palm, “and I saw this Red. He had all the signs. He was going to Run, so I pulled my Gun,” she said, raising her hands into position, “but I.....I couldn’t—couldn’t...”

   Ballard pulled her arms down and placed her hands back in her lap. “Did anyone see this? Any

Sandmen?”

     Her head shook jerkily. “No, no one. But they’re watching me all the time, Bal. I know they are and word’ll get back to Balt. It will, I know it will. You have to help me.”      “How can I, Vera,” he said taking both hands in his. “Tell me how.”

     She bent closer, whispering so he could barely hear. “You’ve got to kill Computer.”

     “What?”

     “Computer. It’s been lying to us. There’s other cities, other Sandmen, and everything is better than what Computer gives us. I’ve seen one. I did, Bal. I saw it.”

     “Honey,” Ballard said, as if to a small child, “I can’t kill Computer, no one can.”

     “But you have to,” she sobbed,” because it’s killing me, Bal, and I don’t want to die.”

     Becoming increasingly clearer Ballard’s worst fears were being realized, he could see she was going to have a mental or emotional breakdown—and sooner rather than he cared to admit.

“Vera, listen to me. I know you’ve gone Red and know it’s too early. But there are way –“

     “No,” she sobbed, pulling away her hands. “You can’t help me. You’re just like all the others. You _are_ a Man. I can’t trust you, either.” Suddenly, she turned and ran out of the room before Ballard could say another word.

    Relaying a stop order to all DS in the building, Ballard thought she’d be caught, but she fooled them all and disappeared without a trace into the city’s masses.

 

     That night he went to her unit but found it vacant. What was there consisted of her uniform,

lying in a crumpled pile on the sleeproom floor. Her utility belt was there, too, along with her Follower. But the Flamegun was blatantly missing.

     At that moment, Ballard knew he had to go Outside. From the House, he could contact Sanctuary, because if anyone knew of Jonathan’s existence, they would and would also know where he was and what name he was using. And, once in touch with Jonathan, maybe then they could find Vera. They had to.

 

     Sandman. To be a Sandman was to have virtual control over life and death. Well, at least death. DS. Deep Sleep. And the Sandman would help you get to sleep, if you didn’t submit to voluntary Sleep at your nearest Sleep Shop. That was vital. The control of a constant population was vital, vital to food production quota, vital to the amount of energy generated, the number of jobs filled, the number of services furnished to the citizenry, because everything was in perfect, controlled order. And, if anyone dared upset that perfection, the Sandman was there to restore it, the offender quickly and efficiently, although not painlessly, eradicated, never to cause a single ripple of imperfection again.

     Darnell Seven was a Sandman, a good one. He was taller than most, dark-haired, and dark but not black complexioned. His muscles were hard cords of energy and his body a deadly machine, which gained him the respect he expected and, without exception received. To do otherwise was to wreak his anger, which was like a dull blade, slowly and painfully grinding and twisting its way into your gut. You wouldn’t die soon, but you would eventually die—but only after enduring pain so great you’d wish for death. His anger was like that, although he wouldn’t physically hurt you. Oh, no, things happened to those who incurred his wrath, things which steadily, almost predictably got worse, until finally, after months, sometimes years, there’d be the most horribly imagined “accident” befall one. That’s how Darnell dealt with his enemies. He didn’t get mad, really, he just got, as they say, even.

     Darnell was new in Shreveport Dome—a transfer from Scottsdale, where DS lived by such

rules as they could, literally chisel from the starkness of their environment. The tales of horror practically preceded him, of course, arriving a single day before he walked into town. It was said, he’d terminated so many Runners, he didn’t bother notching the handle of his Gun, as there wouldn’t be room enough. And he had just tuned Red, according to the dossier he handed to the Operative on duty when he walked into HQ.

     “There some kind of problem with my papers?”

     “No, none,” the operative at records quickly replied. Now he looked up at the newly arrived Sandman. “It’s just I’ve never seen stats like these, that’s all.”

     “Good,” Darnell replied, “couldn’t have trouble my first day in Shreveport, could I? Put a pall on the whole joy of my transfer, wouldn’t it?”

     “Yeah, guess so,” the other nervously answered. He fumbled through the keyboard in front of him and punched up the required information on Darnell’s assigned quarters. “You’re in Sector Newburg, Quad R, Unit Five-twenty-three.”

     “Thanks,” Darnell said and turned to leave.

     “Uh, aren’t you going to write it down?”

     “Why should I?”

     “Oh, uh, no reason, I guess. Most do, is all.”

     “Well,” Darnell said, shooting the other man an unbelievably white grin, “I’m not most...am I?”

 

     The Recordman swallowed, visibly.

     “By the way,” Darnell added, approaching him, “who does a guy see about getting leave time?”

     “Leave time? You can’t—“

    “Can’t what?” Darnell said, bending down to the other’s level in intimidation.

     “Nothing. Uh, you jus can’t find him this time of day, that’s all.”

     “Uh-huh. Well, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I’m going to my unit, take a shower and rest a bit. You’ll see I’m not interrupted by getting a duty call, won’t you?”  He roughly patted the smaller man’s cheek. “Of course you will. Twenty-four hours, understood? After all, it’s only civil to let a guy get his bearings in a new place, right?”

     The Records man was still immobile.

     “Right.” Darnell moved off from the desk, nodding as he casually backed toward the door. Once through, he waved a cheery good-bye and tuned on his heel.

     With the door slid to behind the new operative, Sandman Girard Six, in charge of Records for the last six years, raised his superior on the ‘com.

     “Dubonnet, get over here, fast. You’re not going to believe what I’ve got to show you on the new transferee. And, if you see a strange, tall Sandman on your way here, avoid him like Hell.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

 

     Vera was deep within the bowels of New City, unable to remember how she’d gotten there or why. It was if she’d had a blackout in her memory—a lapse.

     She heard voices in the distance and cold see a faint gleam of light down the dark, sweaty corridor, and for the first time realized she wore a light red, nearly pink tunic like an ordinary Citizen, instead of her usual uniform. Curiosity supplanting her fear, she crept furtively forward

on slippered feet.

     The words spoken by what she could now see as a group of five or six, equally men and women, were clearer than before, and could make out the word, “Sanctuary,” several times. Sanctuary. She’d never heard that word before and would remember if she had—wouldn’t she?

Shaking her head to clear it of confusion, Vera didn’t realize the jangling bangle necklace at her throat had alerted the group as to her presence until too late.

     Two of the men were on Vera at once, pulling her to where a torch illuminated their meeting. “Any of you recognize her?” one said.

     One of the women regarded her more closely. “Looks a bit like the Sandlady, but there’s something different about her. It’s not her.”

     “You’re sure, Kari?” another asked.

    The Green nodded. “Yeah, it’s not her. I’m sure.”

     “Who are you?” a voice asked from behind.

     Vera turned, trying to see who questioned her, but was prevented by one of the men.

     “Come on, sweetie, what’s your name?” one of her captors prodded, slightly twisting her arm behind her back.

     “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

     One of the women approached and held the torch so it played over the stranger’s face.

     “Look at her. She’s covered with scratches and cuts. They’re recent, too.” She looked Vera in the eye. “Sure you can’t remember your name? What happened to you?”

     “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Then her eyes grew wide with fear and sudden remembrance. “Pira, my name’s Pira.”

     “Strange name. Never heard it before. What about you?” one of the men said, looking about.

     They all shook their heads.

    The same man grabbed her left hand and raised it to the light. The crystal shone like a ruby in the darkness, dark and bloody. “A Red, a least we know that. Ever hear of Sanctuary, cutie?”

    She shook her head, fiercely.

     He looked her up and down, making her uncomfortable. “Maybe not. Computer’s got a way to keep things quiet around here.”

     At the word Compute, Pira’s eyes dilated in horror and she struggled against the man’s grasp on her arm, whining, “Computer’s trying to kill me. It’ll kill me if I don’t get away. I can’t die. I don’t want to die.”

    The obvious leader grabbed Vera by the shoulders and gave her a quick shake to bring her to her senses. He’d had a lot of experience with Runners and had seen a lot react this way. Now he looked this woman called Pira in the eye, holding, demanding her utter attention.

     “You don’t wasn’t to die. Do you want to Run?”

     She looked from one to the others of the group, fright beginning to turn to hope before fear again took over and she became confused. Run? She’d never thought of Running. But now it seemed quite plausible.

     “Yes,” she answered at last. “I want to Run. Now! I don’t want to wait until I go Lastday. I want to Run now. I have to.”

     “We can’t trust her, Murray. We don’t know anything about her. You’re not going to—“

   “We can trust her,” he replied. Then he softly added, stroking the terrified Pira’s cheek, “I Have a gut instinct we can. In spite of all logic, I think we can trust her with our very lives.” He looked to the men holding her. “Release her.”

     They looked at each other then did as ordered. “Hope you know what you’re doing,” one

remarked.

     “I do.” Taking Vera/Pira gently by the hand, he led her down the corridor to their meeting place.

     The others followed, some shaking their heads at their leader’s blind faith and other muttering to themselves or one another. But he was their leader. He was older. He had Renewed. He’d been

to Sanctuary.

     Now he led Vera to a waiting mazecar and helped her in. I’m going to take her on ahead. Next week, same time?” he asked the small group.

    They nodded in unison.

     “Until then,” he said and ordered the ‘car off.

     Farther down the maze-tunnel, Pira got her first good look at the man called Murray. He had streaks of gray in his straight brown hair, and a kind, fairly unlined face. The eye—she couldn’t really see them in the dim light but guess their color to be rather light. Instinctively, she trusted him. But as she studied him, he turned to her.

     “You feeling better now?”      She nodded. “I just had to get out of New City, I had to.”

     “Oh, I understand that, all right. Never could take the place very long at a time, myself.”

     “You lived here before?”

     “Many times under many names.” He smiled. “I was even a Sandman, like you.”

     “But I’m not a Sandman.”

     “Oh, yes, you are. They might not have recognized you, but I did. Don’t worry,” he said, patting her knee, “I won’t tell them. Your secret’s safe with me.”

     “But I’m not a Sandman. I’m not. I couldn’t kill anyone.”

     “You could if your life depended upon it. Anyone could.” He seemed to regard her again, more coolly. “You really can’t remember, can you? Well, we’ll see if we can restore your memory once we reach Sanctuary.” He leaned back in the seat, resting his hands behind his head. “There’s plenty of time.” With his eyes now closed, she thought him sleeping when he suddenly said, “Don’t you think that Flamegun strapped to your thigh would be safer with me, now?”

     “Gun?” Pira felt down each thigh and came upon the weapon’s black bulk carefully strapped down on the back of her right thigh. Slowly, delicately, she released its bonds, as if it were a living enemy and handed it to Murray.

     He took it, placing it inside his tunic. “Good girl, now try to get some rest. It’s a long journey.”

 

     Ballard Three arrived at the House about the same time as Pira and Murray had left New City’s confines. There, at the way station, a handwritten note lay on the single table, a note whose handwriting was very familiar.

     “Stalas,” it began, using his Meldanan name, “had a feeling you’d be coming here. Wait. Jonathan should arrive before nightfall. Don’t worry about your sister. I’ve monitored her movements for several days and have decided to get her out of the city. It was signed, Your Father.

     Outside, it was already approaching dark at Victoria Station, so Jonathan should arrive at any moment. And, just as Ballard thought it, a man dressed in Sandman black entered through the door, carefully peeling a synthaskin face away under dark hair. As he approached Ballard, he smiled broadly.

     “Hi, kid. How’s it going? They got here yet?”

     “Jonathan, damn, I hardly recognized you. Who’s coming?”

     “Ballard Two and Vera. Just got a message from him on my way here. Didn’t say much, though.” He walked over to the monitor screen and turned it on. There weren’t any signal blimps

yet, just emptiness.

     With the heavy Gun belt unbuckled from around his hips and placed on top of the console,

Jonathan said, “Damn things sure are heavy. Think, with all their advanced technology, the other Cities could take some weight out of their Guns. It must weigh seven pounds, at least.”

     Stalas picked up the belt and gingerly removed the Gun, but Jonathan tore it quickly away.

     “Don’t ever touch it. They’ve got a failsafe built in, and it’ll explode in anyone else’s hand.”

     “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

     “No problem. There’s just a lot of things other cities have that are different than New City’s—and most of them are just, if not more, deadly.”

     “What time you think they’ll get here?” the younger man said, “I can’t wait much past midnight.”

     “Yeah, you’re gonna have to get back before you’re missed. Well, if they haven’t come in the next few hours, I say go ahead. While we wait, can you rig up that transceiver so we can stay in touch?”

     “Sure,” he said, taking the black box off the console, where Jonathan had left it a week before. The back of the devise pried off, Stalas/Ballard began his adjustments. “Good idea, this,” he said. I’ve nearly died a thousand deaths in the last week, wanting to get in touch with you. Kept getting messages on my Follower saying you were alive and all. Didn’t know who was sending them.”

     “Probably Ballard,” said Jonathan, as he rummaged through the cabinets for something to eat.

     Stelas glanced at the other Sandman. “You’re kind of hung up on her, aren’t you?”

     Jonathan looked his way, a grin on his face. “You mean Vera? Yeah, I guess I am. Be glad to see her out of this and safe.” He turned and leaned against the cabinets. “Really do miss her. Women in Shreveport sure aren’t anything like her.” He heavily sighed. “Sure is going to be a long six years there.” He studied Stalas’ quiet form, swiftly adjusting and rewiring the transceiver.      “There something you want to tell me, kid?”

     Stelas looked up. “Tell you?”

     “Yeah. Something’s bother you, I can always tell, remember? No, ‘fess up.”

     “It’s just Vera.”

     “What about her?”

     “Something happened to her Outside. I don’t know what, but she thinks Computer’s trying to kill her and all sorts of things. Good thing she’s getting out of the city.”      “Uh-huh. I think I know what did it but don’t want to say anything until I’m sure. Just rest easy once she’s at Sanctuary, the med-techs will take care of her and she’ll be as good as new. Or at least I hope so,” he added quietly.

 

     The man known during his long lifetime as Ballard Two, Francis Seven, Tremayne Four, Francis Eight and now Murray, silently watched the sleeping girl beside him in the mazecar, anxious to reach the House and see his son again, anxious to have access to the equipment which would answer the nagging question in his mind ever since this young woman had voiced her name in Undercity. Why would she come up with the name Pira, when she’d never heard it in her entire life? He had a theory, as wild as it might be, that could answer his question. A theory,

however, which could only be borne out by very sophisticated tests—blood work, karyotyping, possibly even chromatographs. He already had the results in his files at the House with which to compare the results he’d obtain from Vera, and was eager to compare them but also dreaded it.

     When they did arrive there, hours later, Ballard Two administered a sedative to the woman to relax her. She didn’t recognize either of the two men already there, but while she sat, dozing, they collected the samples they’d need, and Jonathan took them back to the lab to conduct certain test, as the oldest man watched over her.

     Ballard Three/Stelas touched his father’s shoulder, and he turned. “I need to leave, Father. Let me know the results, will you?”

     He nodded then looked at his son. “You know what I suspect, don’t you?”

     The other nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I do. But, if it is true, Father, we have to keep it from her, as it would totally devastate her.”

     “And if it is true, then I’ve lost a daughter.”

     “No, you’ll always be her father. Nothing will ever change that.

 

     Hours later, a tired Jonathan emerged from the lab, and Ballard met his exhausted and disappointed eyes.

     “The two samples match perfectly. I checked and double-checked. There’s no variation at all. None. Vera Four is not L’Pira’s daughter.” Jonathan walked toward them then stopped, slamming his fist against the wall. “She’s her...she’s the one thing she hates. She’s a clone!”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Eyes unseeing, body unfeeling, Vera Four awoke. The room was shadowed in subterranean gloom, the only gleam of light coming from a luminous orb at her bedside. Mind blank...without thought, without reflection, without memory, her body felt like nothing more than an organism, incapable of no emotion but fear.  
Others busied themselves around her, changing her to a more lateral position and constantly wiping perspiration from her brow. Had it been this way for months or only weeks, others bathing her, moving her, feeding her, disposing of her bodily wastes in a sterile, efficient manner? Now the med-techs came and regarded her, discussing her case in hushed tones, suggesting, rejecting then shuffling away and leaving her alone in the room which had become her personal prison. The only remaining figure, she could see, was a nurse who adjusted her covers then turned on the monitors and left as quietly as a heartbeat.

Ballard had been sure the med-techs of Sanctuary II could delve into Vera’s mind and discover the reason for her breakdown then bring about her recovery. But now weeks had passed and all attempts had met with resistance from Vera’s brain. Vocal, although hysterical, on her arrival, they’d attempted hypnosis, both physical and drug-induced, but her memory revealed no new information. Instead, she’d retreated farther and farther into herself, until totally mute and unresponsive. For over two weeks not a single word or sound had passed her lips, until this very morning, one hundred meters beneath the Moon’s frigid surface. The moment had come just before the hour of Noon.

A full DS Operative at last, Ballard Three quickly ascended the steps of DS Headquarters,  
brushing off his totally black uniform with its gray collar and breast band. It fit him well, as any of his numerous female admirers would be more than happy to tell him, setting off his broad,  
muscular shoulders, slim waist, and showed his strong thighs to much better advantage in the  
black, rather than green pantskins.  
Pale, sea-green eyes hardened, steeling themselves for his first day as the new Primary. He  
must set an example as the ideal Sandman—hard, infallible, and uncompromising. Balt would be there, watching and waiting for the chance to put him down. And so would Logan.  
Utterly alone, now, with Jonathan in Shreveport and Vera gone and long ago reported missing, their absence left Ballard as the last of the Meldanan agents in New City. He only hoped he was up to the job ahead. Brushing his long, silver-blond hair back from his lamp-tanned face with both hands, he entered the gold-glassed building and made his way to the huge DS Conference room, where all DS personnel, operatives and trainees alike, would be waiting to hear his inauguration address.  
One year from this date, this very moment, fifty-two weeks from this breath, for three-hundred-and-sixty-five days, he’d be personally responsible for every life within New City. How many hours, how many Runs, how many terminations would his tour as Primary encompass? So much to do. So little time. So much to hear in such a terrible expanse of time—fathomless, engulfing, soul-draining time.  
What could he expect? Frustration? Pressure? Oh, most assuredly. Cooperation. Devotion of the DS Force? Respect? Don’t count on it, kid. Don’t count on anything, Ballard reminded himself. Trust only yourself. Those had been Jonathan’s last words, as he’d departed less than a month ago from Sanctuary II.  
Enter the Mouth of Fate, Sandman.  
They faced him, row upon row of black tunics, some with gray chest-bands, some without, of all ages from Yellows to Reds. Crafty face, stern face, innocent, expectant faces all spoke in a cacophony of sounds as he entered the room, but were now hushed as he ascended the circular raised platform which began to slowly rise, once his full weight had stepped into position before the chromed arch. It rose until it reached a height of three meters above the ‘torium floor, then stopped.  
“Sandmen,” he began. “Trainees, Operatives, and ex-Primaries.” Better throw the last in for those who‘d be assessing his next year against the one they’d “ruled”. “You have been chosen, as was I, by our most-knowing Thinker, to be among the ranks of the city’s, this New City’s most elite, the Deep Sleep Organization. Some of you are descended from generation after generation of Sandmen, men who’ve time and again proven themselves in the line of duty. But there are others of you,” he added, turning toward a small enclave of trainees, “who are recently called into the service of DS, specially chosen and specially trained.  
“During this next year, I intend to personally supervise the training of all levels and be among you, not as your Primary, but as your friend. I want to know your problems, your frustration.. Confide in me, and I will not betray you. Trust in me, and I will not fail you.”  
Ballard went on, more to fill his allotted time, rather than put forth his policies and goals for the coming year. Just now, they were better off knowing as little as possible. Shortly after his address, Ballard appeared on Tri-Dim to deliver his State of the City address, eager, good-natured, yet serious enough to maintain the Citizens’ awe of his uniform and temporary title.

In Shreveport Dome, Jonathan faced his problems as a new Sandman there, a city fairly much under the autocratic control of its DS, a DS controlled in turn by a small group of Sandmen, headed by an Arcadian descendant—Dubonnet Five. It was this small group, which Jonathan had hoped to infiltrate by his tough guy persona and reputation—one carefully crafted and put forth even prior to his official arrival. And it had worked.  
As he lounged in a dark corner during one of the group’s intimate parties, he regarded Dubonnet across the room, reflecting on the uneasy feelings the man had provoked the first time they met. And this same feeling had returned on each subsequent encounter, this present one making his senses tingle with wrongness about the man’s being. Despite the others carefully filled in past and logical, slightly above standard progression from Nursery to DS, Dubonnet didn’t fit in. Oh, he fit in with DS but didn’t fit the harmony of the city—or rather the lack of it. He knew things, this one did, knew things the others didn’t—about Thinker, about the years before the Little War, and knew where to be at the right time...uncannily so, eerily so.  
“Glitterspin, Sandman?” came a very feminine voice at Jonathan/Darnell’s ear.  
He turned to the Screamer who offered him a sparkling, centimeter wide disc of blurred silver, spinning so rapidly above the girl’s outstretched palm as to be indefinable in detail. Beautiful and innocuous, you directed its path over your own body or your partner’s for an indescribable sensation. And this Screamer obviously wanted him to be her partner.   
With an engaging smile, Jonathan turned and looked at the girl, seeing her features for the first time. Her hair was dark...like Vera’s...her eyes, shadowed by the dimness in the room, appearing light-colored, probably blue or green, and her complexion was pale as ivory...like Vera’s. Remembering the past, his smile briefly waned then brightened again, as he answered, “Not now, perhaps later.”  
Eyes cast down in disappointment, the girl said, “Is there anything you’d like better? Perhaps—“  
Jonathan took her delicate hand. “I was just thinking about things, a lot of thing. I couldn’t give you the attention I’d want. Understand?”  
She nodded weakly.  
“Ask me again, promise?”  
As Jonathan watched, she slipped her hand away then walked silently past of group of trainees and into a crowd of grey and black, greens and reds, He knew she’d find someone else to accept her trinket and the offer it implied. He wasn’t worried about her; he was worried about the impression his refusal had made on the other DS. He worried if they’d noticed his lack of female companionship since his arrival.   
And he’d tried. Oh, how he’d tried to insert a woman into his new life. The Ancestors knew he’d tried. But there was always the haunting memory of Vera—her smile, her enchanting eyes, the dark cloud of her hair, soft as a baby’s breath under his finger, the golden warmth of her skin, the... How could he ever hope to replace her, much less forget her, forget the frail, pale goddess he’d left on Sanctuary II. He needed to see her, instead of sitting here abjectly posing, spying and infiltrating an unfeeling group of bloodsuckers. He should be with her.  
But the med-techs had said there was nothing he could do. He should be fulfilling his mission on Earth, they’d said. He shouldn’t worry about her care, they said. His father had promised to keep him informed on her progress, and Ballard Two had given his word he’d be with her as much as they’d allow. But two weeks had passed without a word. Were they afraid to tell him? What were they afraid to tell him? Had she gotten worse? Even died? He had to see her, see for himself if she still breathed or not.  
He’d go, and to Hell with Shreveport, his mission, and DS. They’d all be here when he returned...if he returned. Right now, Vera was more important than all of this.  
###  
Beneath the Moon’s frigid darkside, another shift had ended in the medical sector. It was 11:32, Moon Time, early winter, Scorpio 20 on Earth.  
In a private room furnished with only a single bed and chair, the nurses had just finished repositioning a frail young woman who, when she’d last spoken, had called herself “Pira”. In the chair beside her sat a man, slightly bent forward and his streaked gray head bowed over the woman’s thin hand held tightly in both of his, as he had each day for months, sometimes speaking softly to the inert form and often only holding her hand, as he did now.  
Was it reality or only his hopeful imagination which felt that hand move within his grasp? He raised his head, loosening his fingers to look. The woman’s forefinger lay still, then, almost as if he’d willed it, moved just a fraction. His eyes went to her face where her closed eyelids slowly raised as he spoke her name, revealing a tired, pitiful gaze.  
“Vera,” he whispered.  
Her eyes seemed to focus on him and her lips trembled as if to speak.  
“What is it, Vera? Is there something you want?”  
Her mouth formed a single sound, a single syllable and finally produced it in audible tones, harsh and feathery. “Jah...”  
Ballard came closer, putting his head near her lips, and stroked her hair with his hand. “Is it Jonathan you want?”  
She nodded weakly, tears coming to her light gray eyes. Now, her lips struggled to form other sounds. “Dead. He’s dead.”  
“No,” Ballard assured her. “He’s not dead, sweetheart. He’s very alive and on his way here.”  
“Not dead?”  
“No.”   
She closed her eyes, which caused a new stream of tears to fall down her cheeks, then she opened them once more. “Alive? He’s alive?”  
“Yes, Vera. He is alive and loves you very much. He wants you to get well.”  
The tears increased and sobs began to tumble from her chest. At that, Ballard took her into his arms and let her rid herself of all the hurt and trauma of the last months. Now she could live again and be whole again.

Once Ballard Three had become Primary, he’d been able to initiate a search in the City core for the reproductive cells allegedly stored there before the Great Calamity. He’d had Sanctuary’s history computer working long and hard on the cells probable location and storage, what type of container and its bulk, so he’d know what to anticipate. The machine delving into the memories of its predecessors before the Little War, it went back as far as the last World War and had come forth with all Ballard needed—and then some. Not only had the location within the Core been pinpointed, but now the names of those whose cells had been stored were available.  
It must be remembered these were not the same cells as presently used in New City’s Regenerative Complex to ensure new generations. These were reproductive cells of men and women dead, in some cases, a hundred years—the founders of the original City of Domes, antecedents of the Sandmen, the med-techs, the intellectuals, the artist in all field, the scientist and great statesmen, as well as other of importance from 1990 to 2098. The history computers had even come up with a short biography on each individual whose cells were stored there.  
As a Meldanan agent, Ballard knew it was his duty to find these cells and return them to Sanctuary II. What happened afterwards would be left to the Sanctuary Council. Based on that decision, the Meldanans could possibly end their involvement with the humans and turn to other things. Once they’d provided the humans with a means to improve life on Earth and had trained them to impose the control needed to sustain life, Meldana and all her agents would depart.  
So close was this decision, Ballard was the last of the agents in New City, and Jonathan was the only other agent in the Southern United States. There were a few in Old Europe and Asia, none in the Canadian Domes or South America. Africa and Australia had no need of their intervention.  
Yes, the time when he could return home was quickly approaching.  
Ballard sat before the Computer terminal in his unit reading the names and biographies as they were transmitted from Sanctuary II. Some were familiar from his study of Earth history ten years before. Those who were not, he studied. Such was one before him now. A woman.

VERA LONG CHAPMAN  
Twentieth century scientist. Born 7-7-1935. Died 10-30-2083 from brain tumor. One year before her death, cells were removed for use in cloning experiment conducted by her colleagues at the University of Praetoria. Result of this experiment proved viable and was given her name. The original Vera Chapman was cryogenically frozen for future revival. The science team raised the clone and were responsible for her education. During the early twenty-first century this clone, referred to in City records as Vera Two, her original being Vera One, was instrumental in the research involving the study of soul release after death. Upon her own natural death in 2075, her body was radiated with beta particles in what her research had indicated would result in a kind of Supersoul. There were many reports of interspace vessels seeing what appeared to a ghost answering her description during the next twenty years, when Earth was involved in Space Warp investigation.  
The original Vera Chapman was revived shortly after this clone’s death then died again five years later on 10-30-2083.

Ballard was intrigued. His mother, known in New City as Vera Three, had been born in the Earth Year 2096, about the time the ghost sightings had ceased. And, according to legend surrounding her, her physical image had never before existed in the Meldanan or in their Adani ancestors. It was postulated her initiating life force essence had come from outside either of those races and their galaxy. If, as he suspected, the clone of Vera Chapman was this life force provider...a supersoul released by the beta particles, an essence stronger than would normally be produced from a clone. Since a clone received only sixty-percent of the original’s essence, it cannot, because of this be a viable life force in itself. When L’Pira died, this superessence or soul was released but somehow weakened before it became the life force of the little Princess L’Pira on Meldana. Word had recently come from there of the child’s death, so obviously her essence was strong but not strong enough to sustain her life beyond the critical period of seven years.  
Doing some mental calculations, Ballard concluded the following: Vera Four is a clone of Vera Three, and therefore received the majority of Vera Three’s essence, leaving only forty percent to be passed on to the late Princess L’Pira. That explained her death.  
But what happened to the original essence, the soul of Vera One, this Vera Chapman, a woman of the twentieth century who’d died twice? But, if she actually died twice, then would there be two souls, two essences? Of course, cytogenesis was not actually death...  
Ballard’s head began to ache. Maybe he was better off not thinking about this. It really wasn’t his concern anyway. His mission was to find the cells. But Vera Four having a partial essence would explain her emotional breakdown, following her ordeal Outside.  
No, he couldn’t think about her now.  
But it would be months before he could begin his search of the Core. There were new trainees  
to supervise, paperwork to take care of, Operatives and A-levels to chastise or discipline, C-levels to encourage, B-levels to put in their places, and then there was the Citizenry: the Love Shop techs, the Glass-dancers, the...too much to think about at once.  
The new Primary slumped back into his chair, ticking off the terminal screen. He felt damnably alone tonight. No one he could really talk to and Jonathan too far away.

In Shreveport, the same party was in high gear. Jonathan, known among these present as Darnell Seven, had sat in silence, contemplating a quick trip to Sanctuary II then had risen to leave when he’d been grabbed by one of the other operatives.  
His reaction to the man’s hand on his arm had been swift and hostile. “No one touches me, boy, get it?”  
“Yeah, sure. Just wanted to tell you Dubonnet told us he wanted to see you, that’s all.”  
“So where is King Cajun?”  
The operative blanched. No one called Dubonnet a Cajun—not in hearing range, anyway. Everyone knew he was of Arcadian descent, but called himself a Frenchman or Creole, as if he was ashamed of his ancestral origins. “Ove there,” he finally answered, pointing to a group of men by the sleeproom door.  
Darnell strode slowly, but confidently to the group, pushing his way through the men toward the smaller one. “You sent for me, Dubonnet?” he said, sneering tersely and interrupting the ongoing conversation.  
The other looked up at Darnell, who loomed above him. “As a matter of fact, I did.”  
“Well, let’s get something clear,” Darnell said, bending forward, to emphasize the vast difference in their heights, and pointing an intimidating finger at the others chest. “No one, and I mean no one, sends for me, buster. Ya got that? Or do I hafta keep remindin’ ya?”  
The Cajun’s dark eyes pierced Darnell’s face. “And let me make something perfectly clear, mon ami. I don’t appreciate your bullying attitude in my city. You might have succeeded with your disrespect in Scottsdale but not here. And you cannot intimidate me with your barbaric behavior. Is that clear?”  
The other Sandmen backed off from the two men, anticipating a really knock-down drag’em out. In fact, the entire room became deathly silent as the two men faced off for the first time, in a battle of words which would soon erupt into something more.  
“You know my reputation, Dubonnet. You know what I could do to you now or later, if I wanted.”  
Icy blue, lens-covered eyes riveted the Cajun’s and Dubonnet’s gaze shifted, unable to meet the others any longer. Then he finally shifted back before he spoke. At that moment Darnell knew he had established his dominance over this pompous know-it-all.  
“So, cowboy,” Dubonnet was saying, “you won’t fight me, eh? Is that it?” The man bounced his weight around from foot to foot uneasily, gesticulating with his hand in an increasingly nervous manner. “You are afraid to fight, because you’ve heard of my prowess in Omnite, even though you’re new to our city.”  
Darnell grinned, slowly unleashing a raucous laugh. “Afraid? Of your--your prowess in  
Omnite? From what I hear, ineptitude would be a better adjective.” Dubonnet’s dark eyes became fire. “First of all, toadie,” Darnell continued, “I wouldn’t dirty my tunic, fighting the likes of you, in this filthy unit. Secondly, you obviously haven’t read my dossier. Maybe you should—you’d learn something about my talents in Omnite, as well as other areas of self-  
defense. You see, in that barbaric city I came from, Omnite wasn’t enough to survive. You and  
your fancy-pants operatives here wouldn’t last a single week in Scottsdale.”  
“Is that so?” the Cajun came back, ineffectively.  
Darnell, who’d just turned to leave, stopped and looked back over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Yeah, dunderhead, that’s so. What’s it to ya?”  
Dubonnet flew at Darnell, anger stoked red-hot, but Darnell’s temperament was still cool and in control. A single blow to the Cajun’s midsection had him bent double in pain, while an uppercut to the jaw left him laid out cold for the worshippers to pick up. Again, Darnell laughed and made his exit, mumbling, “They’ll never learn.”  
But the Cajun regained consciousness for a last, verbal assault. “You’ll pay for this, Darnell.”  
He turned, arms spread wide. “What can they do to me for this little altercation, hothead—send me back to Scottsdale? Believe me, it’d be a blessing. Any place is better than Shreveport, with assholes like you running it.”  
Dubonnet tried to rise, anger mounting once more, but the others held him back and Darnell left unharmed.  
He’d had it with this city, his mission and everything else, and would tell the Council as much. Anymore he really didn’t give a damn.

On his return to Sanctuary II, Jonathan sat before the Meldanan ambassador, waiting what he knew would be a long lecture. But his attention wasn’t on it. He wanted to see Vera but knew he couldn’t until this little matter was gone and over with. The most he’d been able to find out about her on his arrival was she was totally conscious and asking for him. But duty came first. Damn-it-all!  
“You realize you have seriously jeopardized the entire mission in the Southern United States because of your actions?”  
“Yes, sir, I do.”  
“Have you any excuse for these?” the Ambassador asked, indicating the pages of written reports Jonathan himself had written.  
“I just couldn’t stand it anymore, Father. They talk about agent burnout. Maybe that’s what it was.”  
“Or your concern for the woman, Vera.”  
“Possibly.”  
“Your feelings have not changed?”  
“Only gotten stronger.”  
“I see.” Talmark rose from his chair and went behind that of his son, gently laying a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Then there is a decision to be made.”  
Jonathan brought his folded hands up to his chin. “It has been made. I will leave the service and return to Meldana...with Vera as my wife...if she is willing...and with your blessing.”  
“There should be no reason for me to withhold my blessing, now, in light of the information you recently obtained on the woman.”  
Jonathan turned. “Father, I would appreciate it, if you could cease calling her ‘that woman.’ She has a name. Can you not use it? Can you not accept her?”  
“I will try, my son. For your sake, I will try.”


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

 

     Before him rotated a hologram of New City’s Compute Core, one he’d looked at it umpteen times, already, studying the lines of the graph-like projection with the eye of a scientist for each nook and hidden cranny in the curves and bevels for something which he’d missed before, on discovering the Cell container’s original hiding place wasn’t its present one. Months ago, Francis Eight/Ballard Two had told him where he’d put it for safe keeping, but someone—certainly not him—had found it and either moved or removed the container to another place—or destroyed it. At any rate, it was now Ballard’s job to make sure the container wasn’t in the core, because if it was, it should show up in this holo. There had to be some clue that would make his search easier—if it had been moved by someone who wanted to leave such a clue for future reference or future searchers. But if the Computer knew, it sure wasn’t telling.

     Keying in another obscure word, CRYOGENICS, still produced no results. He’d already tried the obvious ones: SANCTUARY, NEW CITY, SANDMAN, DEEP SLEEP,CLONE, SLEEPSHOP, DEEP FREEZE, CYTOLOGY, GENES, GENERATION, and CALAMITY,  as well as several not so obvious one that had popped into his head during the long, unending hours of scrutiny.

    Stretching Sandman-black arms and back and reaching out and up to untangle the tensed muscles, he reflected on the fact he was this year’s Primary. He didn’t have to concern himself with the Cells whereabouts as Primary, because his duty as that lay in other matters. It was only his devotion to another, which urged him to stay up into the early hours of dawn, rather false dawn, and seek answers to question centuries old.

     Now he punched up another series of letters: BALTZEGAR. Nothing. _Well_ , Ballard thought, _at least it wasn’t as obscure as nother possible access word—RASMUSEN, which he’d put in last week_.

     Damn Thinker would give him everything he wanted about the Cells, except their whereabouts, and voluntarily at that. All he had to do was ask. But, when he asked where, it suddenly got very dumb.

    Now his attention drifted to a sheaf of papers on his right in the Current file tray—applications, interviews, dossiers on new Sandmen/Sandladies trainees. Maybe a slight diversion would improve the working of his grey matter, so took the papers in his hands and shifting through them. Some of the female applicants were ones Balt had squeezed out of Thinker as being sired by DS. Some weren’t. These were also older women, above the usual age for D-Level. Although they’d never been interviewed, their intelligence, manual dexterity, and reaction stats looked good—extremely good. In fact, they were far better than many of the new C-Level Sandlady trainees they presently had and, in some cases, even better than A-Level men. Maybe it was time to pursue the matter a bit more carefully, call in some of these women for an interview.

    The holos proved some to be extremely attractive, he noticed. Good. Better for DS’s reputation. Deadly beautiful. Even with Ballard’s extremely finicky tastes in women (and Balt and Logan thought he just didn’t like women) he could really go for one of these. It was as he looked over the resume on a particular brunette he noticed she, as well as a few others, were from other domes, ones rather far away. _So_ , he mused, _Balt had known about the other cities._

     Ballard cleared the holo from his screen and punched in orders for the immediate transfer of

Phaedra Six and Danine Three to New City. Purpose: interview for possible incorporation into New City’s DS Force after training.  That done, he leaned back and examined the resumes once more, paying particular attention to the holos of the two young women, mid-Greens by the stats. In a way, one’s face seemed extremely familiar. It was something about her, something that...a sudden chill ravaged his back muscles, and he put the papers down and rubbed away the feeling on the back of his neck. The eyes, there was something totally unnerving about those eyes! He retrieved the paper and stared at the holo, comparing them. The woman’s eyes drilled him, melted him and turned his usual hard soul into something totally undependable, unreliable, and untrustworthy. And, if her holo did that, what would the actual woman do? In a way, it was an experience he looked forward to although with a scientist’s usual anticipation.

     Her hair was ebon black, her skin the color of purest cream with a hint of blush in her cheeks. Her eyes, exaggerated by makeup—as was the rest of her face—were feline amber-gold, their cat color further enhanced by slanting lines of kohl on the upper and lower lids, which were also shadowed with golden brown, the upper lid also slashed with an accent of clearest gold, nearly a shade lighter than her eyes. Beneath those wondrous  eyes the upper lip of a brightly crimsoned mouth was slightly full and the lower one fuller but the whole perfectly shaped, as was her perfectly shaped and sized breasts, the waist neither too small nor too thick, with hips perfectly rounded and full...but not too full. Her legs were hard and lean, not muscular, and overall, she was feline perfection, exuding the wild, untamed air of a hunting cat—lean, energy reserved, yet ever ready to explode in unbridled ferocity when necessary. Seductive, mysterious...deadly.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

 

     In Shreveport Dome, she moved sinuously toward the Sandman, shaking back her waist length hair, as she neared his seat by the Computer screen. Caressing his cheek with a soft, yet taloned hand, nails lacquered the same shade of red as her lips, she distracted his attention. Taking the hand, he brought it gallantly to his lips.

     “See the mystery, _cherie_?” His lips brushed her fingers. “He sends for you, and yet he does not know what he will find, eh? And what a surprise he will get. Then, when you have him in your lovely...clutches, shall we say, I can finally give Computer what it wants—a New City Sandman, its Primary Sandman.”

     “I shall please you, my love,” she said, voice sultry and low, “and Computer. After all, this is what I was bred for, was it not?”

     He turned to her, regarding the woman he’d caused to be formed from a single cell only six months before, genetically engineering only a few chromosomes to imperceptibly alter certain characteristics and traits. Then the cells had been placed in an accelerated growth chamber, which advanced her aging until the right point and, afterwards, trained in all the arts of modern and ancient man. It was a simple matter to insert her dossier into Computer and thus make it available for review. Of course, what the dossier revealed as her background was totally different than fact.

     “You always please me, Danine. And, once we have that fool Ballard, I shall please you and give you anything you desire.” He turned back to the screen. “Ah, yes, but now I must regard this newest information from Computer. Why does Ballard seek the ancient cells in his New City’s Core? Does he not realize they could have been moved...even duplicated?” Again he turned

toward her and flashed a sly grin, running his eyes over her form from head to toe...a survey she

gloried in, he could see. “Yes, duplicated.”

     When she spread her blood-red lips and narrowed her eyes to yellows slits, he saw her nostrils slightly flaring in anticipation.  “Easy, my pet. You’ll have your game soon enough.”

   

     “I can’t go in looking like this!”

     The older man looked at Jonathan, regarding his abnormally dark hair, red-brown skin and ice blue eyes. “Your voice is the only thing that counts.”

     “But when she sees me like this, looking more like Briggs, she won’t recognize me, and it’ll take months for the melanin dye in my cells to return to normal.”      Ballard Two took his friend by the arm, directing him to the vid-monitor outside Vera’s room under the Moon’s surface, and motioned toward the girl’s sleeping form. “She won’t see what you look like, Jonathan, because she can’t.”

     “Can’t?”

     “Hysterical blindness—she obviously saw something so disturbing Outside her mind is blocking all sight. But she still needs you and needs to know you still love her.”

 

     Jonathan hesitantly entered the small room, his footsteps muted in the deep carpet, and the only sounds those of the beeping monitors for bodily function. Finally, he stood beside the sleeping Vera, still wearing his DS uniform, not having bothered with its removal since he arrived.

     “Vera?” he whispered.

     The dark-haired woman’s eyes flickered open, gray glints of lights in the room’s semi-darkness.      “Jonathan?”

     “Yes, baby, I’m here. Everything’s gong to be fine, now. I’m here.” Slipping his arm behind her, he drew her into his arms, as hers encircled him with near desperation. Head against his chest sobbing, he kissed her hair then lowered his lips to her mouth.

   

     Outside, Ballard watched on the vid, tears coming from his eyes. A few moments later, he was joined by Talmark.

     “My son grows more humanlike every day,” he said, seeing the reunion on the screen.

     “One of the hazards of Earth-duty, Ambassador.”

     “He plans to take her to Meldana as his wife.”

     Ballard’s graying head dropped slightly.

     “I’ve not had the opportunity to tell him how impossible that is,” the Ambassador continued.

     “Nor have I,” admitted Ballard. “If we can convince him it would only harm her, what do you think he’d do then?”

     “I can only guess, of course. He seems totally disinterested in returning to his assignment in Shreveport, yet it would be my assumption he’d stay here. He’s only returned to Meldana once in the last twenty years, and has no real connection with our world. He’d be totally out of place, since even his behavior has become totally unMeldanan. And, if she were to go with him, it would be the same.”

     “As much as his presence could facilitate Vera’s recovery,” Ballard said, “and, perhaps, discover the reason behind this breakdown, “I believe he’s needed more in Shreveport...at least now.”

     “You have information?”

     The other man turned away from the monitor to face the tall Meldanan ambassador. “Strange things have been happening. Our civilian agent reports several mysterious lab projects within the

last eight months, as well as unusual Computer activity in Dubonnet’s unit.”

 

     As Jonathan later lay on his narrow bed at Sanctuary II, he thought her eyes, her unseeing eyes were like those of a wounded animal. Hurt, confused, not knowing friend from enemy, she lived only to be comforted by someone she could trust.

     Repeatedly, she’d asked him where she was.

     “Sanctuary,” he’d told her.

     “I don’t understand.”

     Again, he tried to explain, but she was totally uncomprehending.

     She’d clung to him like frightened child, like she did that night in the cave near Victoria Station, only six months earlier.

     Now as he lay here and even sitting beside her, he wanted to love her, protect her for the rest of their lives. Was this his fault for taking her Outside? She’d never known Outside, never known of other domes or cities. Why didn’t he return to take her from the house himself? Why had he even trusted others to do his job? She was so naïve, so beautifully innocent, so afraid of Outside. Was this cultural shock he’d forced upon her the true reason behind her breakdown? And now, she was being subjected to another strange environment. Did he dare take her to yet another, more alien one?

     Maybe not, but he had to take her away from here. How could he let her stay?

     The hour was ate, but he rose and dressed the made his way to the Meldanan Ambassador’s quarters, where, a scant second after he’d signaled, the door slid open.

     Still fully dressed, the tall elder greeted him, proffering a drink from one of the two he held in his hands.  “I’ve been expecting you, Teras. Come in.”

     Jonathan entered and quickly took the drink. “Father, I need your counsel.”

     “Yes, I know.” Motioning his son to one of the overstuffed chairs covered in _tlietz_ hide—softer than any other leather—he took his own seat opposite. “There is much I need to tell you, as well, things you should have known long ago.” He sipped his drink and regarded his son’s reaction, then continued. “I will save needless words, words which will only prepare you for what I must tell you. When you visited Veera today, you saw a woman blind and desperate but overwhelmed at seeing you again. The last weeks since her catatonia lifted she has regressed somewhat. There are times, like today, when she knows her loved ones and even recognized some of the doctors who have attended her. Then there are others,” he said, lowering his head but still watching Jonathan, “where she knows no one, not even Ballard. These periods have recently become more frequent. Today we were lucky. Tomorrow....”

     “But she will recover” Jonathan said, swallowing hard, “in time?”

     Talmark took another sip of liquor. “Your Vera is the image of our great Matriarch L’Pira, but she is not her, Teras, no will she ever be. Where L’Pira was strong, your Vera is not. She is weak. Not weak of character, only weak in conditioning of character. Ballard believes this is, in part, his fault for protecting her in his final years in New City. Nevertheless, thus she will always be, and because of it, most vulnerable. Only two days ago we thought she would full recover, but now...”

     It was easy to see his son believed yet did not believe. Unable to accept the full impact of these words, he surely must realize Talmark’s words were scientific fact, but could tell he had hoped from what he’d seen and guessed he’d been misinformed. He loved her too much to hope otherwise. After watching these thoughts cross the younger man’s features, Talmark crossed to where the gilded family crest hung on the wall.

     “The glesier soars above tragedy, soars in spite of it. Our people are bred and reared with that spirit, and yet such tragedy is fatal to Humans—in spite of all we do to prevent it and to protect them. Regardless of her blood, Vera is Human. Her cells may be identical to the Matriarch, but she is not. Even if she were to recover...she could never adjust to life on Meldana.”

     “Even if I were beside her to guide her, to—“

    “To protect her? Teras, listen to yourself. Be sensible, my son. You may be her whole world here, but cannot continue to be her only world. She needs other Humans, when and if she recovers. Not just you, not just Ballard, or her brother. Her sensitive nature would never survive on Meldana with its starkness. Even here, her spirit falters and dies. Can you not see it; did you not see it for yourself, earlier today?”

    Jonathan lowered his head, studying the nearly full glass of liquor in his hands. “Yes, I saw but had hoped...hoped beyond reason, it would seem.”

     Talmark went to his son, his only child, and took his shoulders in a tender embrace. “There is always hope, but sometimes it merely takes longer than others.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

  **Chapter Thirteen**

 

     The new trainee-elect arrived at DS Headquarters, New City, with travel orders in hand, as she climbed the numerous golden steps to the entrance, at the same time turning the head of every male Sandman she passed. She smiled secretively to herself, because, so far, everything was fantastic—much more than she’d expected—including the response her presence had garnered.

     As she waited outside the Primary’s office, another woman, close to Danine’s physically-appearing age, exited. She was quite beautiful, Danine noticed, to some standards, at least with her willowy yet voluptuous figure and intelligent, delving eyes measuring her worth in the short time they’d met hers.

     “Next,” came the masculine voice from within. The timber of that voice awoke every feminine nerve with her less than Human body and put all her talents on alert.

     Entering, she walked purposely, yet seductively to the seat indicated, where she arranged her body to best advantage opposite the Primary at his plasticene desk., where he sat, blond head bent, while he made some final notations on the previous interview, giving Danine an adequate chance to assess him. Hard, muscular arms and shoulders—broad shoulders—hands, long-fingered yet large enough to easily hold a Gun—or anything else—commanding hands. The blond hair was almost silver, thick, curling over the edge of his tunic collar in back and swept away from his forehead and ears in front. His skin was well-tanned, lashes as light as his hair, shadowing eyes that—suddenly he looked at her, revealing them—foam green, ringed with black about each iris, eyes which penetrated to her very soul—one she’d never realized she had until this moment. Her heart skipped a beat.

      “Danine Three?” she heard and witnessed a thick blond eyebrow rise in accent.

     “Yes.” She cleared a slight tremolo from her voice, remembering her lessons and composed herself. “Yes, I’m Danine Three.”

     “Good.” Then he smiled, baring perfect, snow white teeth.

     And, for a moment her reservations faltered.

     “Was your journey pleasant?”

     “Yes, very pleasant.”

     “You know why I’ve asked you here, yes?” 

     Those eyes, again, mesmerizing Danine, she answered, but through most of it he didn’t seem

to really listen and instead, looked her up and down. “And I’ve trained with the Shreveport Sandlady program,” she was saying, when he seemed to pay attention.

     “I wasn’t aware Shreveport had Sandladies.”

    “Not yet, but like you they’re still experimenting.”

     “New City ceased experimenting long ago, Danine. We’ve had Sandladies for over twenty years now.”

     “But only one at a time...until now,” she pointed out.

     “ _Touch_ _é!”_ Now Ballard stood and offered Danine his hand, whereon a small shock passed between them. “Must be the carpet,” he explained. “Static electricity.”

 

     “Well, maybe we were wrong about Ballard,” the former Primary said.

     “I just want to know where she’s been all my life,” said Logan, hand on his hips as he watched the twosome pass by.

     “Looks kind of familiar, don’t you think?”

     “Now you mention it, yeah, a bit like Vera. What ever happened to her, anyway?”

    They walked on. “Heard something about her going nuts when she came back from Outside. Saw Jonathan killed or something and couldn’t take it. Killed herself a week later, some say. Others say she’s in Sensory. Who knows?”

     “Too bad,” Logan commented. “Certainly a waste of fantastic fem-flesh.”

     “Surprised me she made as good a DS as she did, when she couldn’t take something that mild. Never will understand women, and now Ballard’s got more of them in training.”

 

     “Anything else you’d care to see before you go to your unit?” Ballard asked his luscious companion, noting the jade green tunic’s lowly draped neckline with its weight nestled contently at the riveting pint just between her breasts.

     “Yes,” she said, turning to him and slipping her hand up his arm, as she drew closer.

     “What then?” he said, her eyes hypnotizing his.

     “Your living unit.”

     “Your wish is my command.”

 

     Once there, she wasted no time in making her wants known, her arms encircling his neck and face lifted to his, amber eyes half-closed as she drew his head down to hers.

     Lips, moist and enticing, filled his vision with an uncanny sense of _déjà vu_ , but Ballard knew he’d never had a moment like this, exactly like this. His arms already encircling her as they kissed, her fingers left his neck to detach the seam of his tunic. Not really knowing how, she had it off and then her own tunic fell to the floor, revealing all her creamy loveliness.

     With a swift and sure motion, he lifted her into his arm and carried her to the sleeproom. There, as his lips touched her skin, every place he touched made him burn with desire, and hopefully aroused hers.

     “Ballard,” she whispered and he kissed her eyelids and stroked her thick, incredibly long, ebony hair.

     Too soon, it was over and they lay spent, side by side upon the bed. She snuggled with her head on the pillow, regarding Ballard’s magnificent body—totally unlike Dubonnet’s—smooth, tanned skin over hard pectorals, where Dubonnet had a thick, animal-like mat of darkest hair. Noting, too, Ballard’s hard trunks of legs, instead of Dubonnet’s sinewy one, she reached over to run her fingers through the Primary’s hair. Dubonnet had never told her sex could be like this. But then, how could he know Ballard would be such an accomplished lover?

     Suddenly, Ballard was up, dressing, and throwing her clothes toward her.

     “Get up,” he ordered.

     “But I thought...”

     “Get up and get dressed. I want you out of here. Now!”

     She took the clothes and pulled them over her head, watching him coldly.

     “Hurry up,” he was saying, “I have to get back to HQ.”

     Her lower lip trembled as she asked, “Will I hear from you...about the DS job?”

     He grinned, almost evilly, she thought, before he answered, pulling on his weapons belt and fastening it then absently checked his Gun. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

     Easing on her slippers, Danine looked at him one last time. What did she expect, after all? He was  a man and hadn’t other women said there were men like this—ones who’d make love to you like none other, driving you mad with wanting them, wanting to be their pair-mate, only to dismiss you, which left you feeling more like a piece of furniture?

 

     _So,_ Ballard mused, when she’d gone, _Logan and Balt thought they’d test me, huh? That’s why Balt didn’t interview her. Well, I guess I’ve passed their little test—but now what do I do with what’s left of me? I want to know her more than ever, and she is imminently qualified for the job. Damn those hyenas, anyway._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

     Vaporous form coalescing within the darkened room of Francis Seven/Ballard Two within Sanctuary II’s frigid Moon, it drifted to the sleeping man’s bedside, taking on shape and substance more solid than before. And now the faintly glowing form of a nude woman stood there, hand reaching out to touch the man’s cheek. He stirred, eyes opening and recognized the woman.

     “Vera!”

     “You need me.” It was a statement of fact, not question.

     “I’ve always needed you.”

     “So I have come as before.”

     “And, as before, you’ll depart after too short a time.”

     “No,” the fluorescence said, shaking it’s a pseudo head, “not this time.” Taking on a more distinct solid body, it slipped into bed next to him, and he took her in his arms. Now with her almost lifelike gray eyes fixed his, she spoke in a voice, as true as it had been in life and promised with deepest sincerity, “This time is forever.”

 

     Even as great as Francis/Ballard’s need for Vera was, she answered another the next morning, one which had cried out across the continuum, an essence, incomplete and desolate in its confusion of missing balance.

     Jonathan stood outside the sterile room, waiting until the med-techs had finished their daily examination, so he could enter and offer what meager healing art he could—that of simply being there. As the doctors left, Ballard Two entered with a woman a step ahead of him, dressed in rich robes of gold and silver, a shimmering effervescence exuding from the exposed parts of her flesh, face and hands. Instinctively, the Meldanan knew her, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

     “Worthiness!” he spoke in awed tones.

     “Rise, Teras, I will need your help.”      “Yes,” he said and rose to follow the others into the girl’s room.

     She seemed markedly disoriented this morning, he noticed, eyes unfocused and arms lying unarticulated by her sides.

     Without speaking, the Matriarch reached out and placed her hands on one side of the girl’s face and neck then nodded at Jonathan whose hands matched the position of hers on the other, their fingers overlapping at the tips. Now, they concentrated, the woman’s mind-essence blending with Jonathan’s real one, directing it into the deepest recesses of this Vera’s disoriented mind. Through Jonathan, she relived Logan’s advances, the “loss” of Jonathan, her discovery by Dubonnet and his attempts at seduction, her escape, the batcave---all of it. Every moment of panic and fear she’d ever experienced, and through the meld they became the Matriarch’s own, her mind-essence combating, subduing, putting the incidents in perspective and then feeding those responses back into Vera’s memory, easing them, which enabled her to subdue them and cope with them unafraid.

     There was so much fear—almost hysteria—so much to endure for one so inexperienced and unprepared, so much to put aright, but finally the Matriarch released herself from Jonathan’s mind, at the same time drawing back from Vera. Jonathan was a good man and cared for her daughter-clone deeply. He’d see her through what remained.

     When they’d both withdrawn from the girl, Jonathan looked at the Matriarch, his eyes boldly meeting hers. But she didn’t answer the question in those eyes, only smiled and reached for Ballard’s arm as he escorted her from the room.

 

     “I need a full-body synthaskin,” she said one hour later—an hour after the med-techs had re-examined Vera and found her greatly improved, all mental faculties normal, blindness gone and color returned to her cheeks.

     “Why? You know I don’t need or care if you—“

     “I’m going to New City as Vera Four to so do some investigating on my own.”

      Francis regarded the woman from the chair where he’d watched her casually reading the latest Meldanan novel on a scanner. “Investigating what?”

     “The Cells’ location.”

     “Stalas is already working on that.”

     “To no avail, it seems. I agree with Teras that Dubonnet’s actions are very suspect, enough to warrant more scrutiny.”

     “So let him go back to Shreveport to scrutinize him; you don’t need to go to New City to—"

     “I’m going to New City to work at the other end of Computer. You don’t really think Dubonnet’s done whatever it is without help from someone, do you?” She looked up at Ballard, a serious expression in her silvery eyes. He almost didn’t know her when she did that.

     “I really hadn’t considered it, to be honest,” he said, looking away.

     “And this time, I think it was by Danine, who’s recently been called to New City by our son,” she remarked, pointing to the scanner screen.

     Francis went to the desk and looked at the face on the screen. “I thought you were reading a novel?”

     “I finished it long ago. Thought I’d check on Stalas’ report. Anyway, does anything about this Danine seem strange to you, or is it just me?”

     He looked more closely, shivering slightly. “More than strange.” Now he looked at Vera and back at the image of the holo and again to Vera. “Extremely strange.”

     Vera left the scanner. “I wonder if he realizes it, though.”

     “I doubt it,” Francis whispered.

     The Matriarch put her arm about him and rested her cheek on his broad back then said, “There’s one thing more.”

     “What?” he asked, taking one of her hands from his chest and facing her, penetrating her with his blue-green eyes.     

     “There are things I may have to do—ones I’ve done many times in the past to gain information. But no matter what they may seem, no matter what I must do, believe it’s only you I love.”

     Francis drew her hands to his lips. “You must do what you think necessary. There’s only one thing I ask—let me come with you.”

   

     Vera Four wandered through the corridors of New City’s DS Headquarters with a look of slight confusion on her face. The halls were familiar yet strange. She’d been recently released from Sensory after rehabilitation.  Yes, that was it. She couldn’t be expected to be totally normal after that experience, much less all the others.

     A strong hand seized her arms and spun her around, directing her eyes to cool gray ones below a thick mat of blue-black hair.

     “Vera, it _is_ you! I saw you walking...but we all thought...”

     She looked up at him, her own gray eyes pleading. “Is there some place we can speak alone? I just can’t face the others. Not yet.”

     “Sure,” he answered, looking around the empty halls. “Let’s go to one of the cubicles in Library.”

 

     Once there, Vera unburdened herself to the Sandman. “Sensory was terrible, Balt. You can’t know how terrible. I had to get well just to get away from it. There were even times I thought they wouldn’t let me out.”

     “But they finally certified you fit to return to duty, right?”

     She shook her head, as if to rid it of confusion. “I don’t know. They did release me and gave me back my uniform, but I feel so alone...without Jonathan.”

     She saw Baltzegar’s eyes lower. “Too bad about him.” Now his eyes met hers, again. “He was one of the finest operatives—one of the best. I miss him. Of course, not the way you must, but then you still have Ballard. He can take care of you.”

     “But it won’t be the same. I need a man, Balt, someone to hold me—not like a brother—someone to lie beside me at night, someone I know will be there when I reach out in the dark. Can you understand?”

     He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I understand,” he said, taking her hands. “There’ve been times when I’ve need the same thing. Why don’t you let me be that someone for you?”

     She looked at him with what she knew was an incredulous expression. “You? I’d expect as much from Logan, but not you.”

     “Logan’s not what you need, even I can see that. He’d chew you up and spit you out like so much raw meat. And that’s the last thing you need. I may be prejudiced, but I think I’m what you need.”

     “What about Logan? You and he are such close friends.”

     “Not anymore. We’ve had a lot of disagreements lately. I seem to be getting older, more mature, and he’s just getting more juvenile. His cruel sense of humor doesn’t impress me anymore.” Balt looked at her and moved closer then slowly stroked her cheek and hair. “To be perfectly honest, I think I will actually be glad when he goes on Carrousel.”

     Then he kissed her, deeply, lingeringly, and Vera found her senses reeling with the sensual warmth of his mouth. But she’d experienced this feeling many times before and only once had it influenced her actions. It wouldn’t this time or any other which might come.

 

     As she lay beside Balt that night, her mind turned over the day’s happenings. Vera knew she’d shortly have to discorporate to renew her already failing energies, to soar invisible among the stars, absorbing their cold rays of life so her essence  could corporate another day. But now, she remained corporeal, biding time until Baltzegar was deeply asleep.

     He’d surprised her, being totally unlike “her” memories. She’d been a trifle unprepared for this warm, very human male. Never having met him, except in those memories, on the first moments of their actual acquaintance she’d felt him disturbingly familiar. Now her mind turned to more important things.

     Ballard was still unaware of her presence in New City but would all too soon. Francis was ensconced as a med-tech in Shreveport, and she’d see him tomorrow on her nightly flight to report and coordinate.

     Beside her, Balt was sleeping soundly, but she reached out her fingers to touch his mind to be sure. He was dreaming, although he’d probably never remember doing so. A strange dream of long ago, almost as if he’d dreamed for another---Baltzegar One? Was he his clone? No, it was an earlier memory-dream. Much earlier. As scientifically tempting as it might be to stay and monitor this dream, Vera knew her own time to be increasingly precious. If she didn’t discorporate and seek new energies soon, would never be able to corporate again.

    She must go to the stars.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Sixteen

 

     Very early the next morning, Vera returned to Balt’s unit, removed the body synthaskin from where she’d hidden it and incorporated to half-level, enough to give the ‘skin support underneath. Then she slipped into bed next to the still slumbering Sandman.

     Still disturbed by the memory of his strange dream, she noticed his Rapid Eye Movements were gone and knew he’d soon awake, so would observe this dream another night. Besides, she had an appointment with the Primary this morning.

 

     Motioning her to occupy one of the chairs in front of his desk, Ballard Three sat in his opposite and closely regarded the woman, Vera, as he spoke. “So, you’re back.”

     She met his eyes, steadily. “I am DS, so my first obligation upon release was to return. I

couldn’t do otherwise.”

     “Of course,” he replied, rising and looking out the large window behind him. “I understand you’ve paired with Balt. Isn’t that a bit sudden? I mean,” he added, turning from the window, “I

was never aware you were even attracted to him.”

     “Some things look better in a new light.”

     “And that’s all you can say?”

    “For the time being.”

     “I see. In that case, I’ll see you’re assigned a patrol as soon as possible. Would you feel up to taking on a B-level trainee?”

     “Possibly.”

     “Good, I’ll let you know.” He watched her for some time in silence, knowing, instinctively, something was not quite right. “You’re certainly much better than I’d expected,” he said, adding, “so soon.”

     “Modern science,” she humbly said.

     “Hmm, perhaps.” He went to the door, opening it, and she rose to leave. “We’ll be in touch?”

     “Of course.”  Going past him, she smiled and left.

  

    Later that same morning, one Danine had spent in restless pacing—unable to sleep during the night—her activity only accelerated her usual morning energy level, until she finally received a call from HQ. The call had simply said: SIM-KILL. 13:30 HRS.

     _So,_ she thought, _they would finally test me._ It had certainly taken long enough, being nearly a week since her interview.

     Her plan had been based on Ballard contacting her personally, but this was far from personal, and doubted he’d even bother observing her test first hand—would probably send a Regular to score her. She’d heard of Sim-Kill from Dubonnet, but as they didn’t have such facilities in Shreveport had been unable to put her through one, although assured Danine she’d have no trouble with such a course.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

     Returning to Shreveport after a briefing with the Matriarch before her departure for New City, Jonathan had made a point of running into Dubonnet shortly on arrival, where he found the operative at a Glass-Dance Parlor, near HQ, watching a lithesome and lightly-garbed brunette in sheer, blood-red gauze-wrap.

     “Hey, Dub,” Jonathan chirped, clapping a hand on the Cajun’s shoulder, as he joined him.

     The man looked up, anger on his face. “Oh, it’s you,” he answered more contritely. “Back so soon?

     “Had a great time,” Jonathan said, pulling his chair closer and watched Dubonnet take a long pull on a Dreamstick.

     “Where’d you go, anyway?”

     “New City, they call it. Of course, it’s ‘Off Record’ so I went as a Citz.”

     “Hmm,” was the others only reply. Then he seemed to shrug off his usually glum mood to reveal a more normal one. “New City, you said?”

     “Yeah, I’m telling you, there’s some great fem-flesh there. Saw one who looked a lot like that’n you hung out with for a few months. You know, the one with theyellow eyes. What was her name?”

     “Danine.”     

     “Yeah, Danine. Anyway, I mean this piece was after everything that had a bulge in its crotch. Couldn’t see to get enough of anything. Put on a real show one night at a place they call Love Shop. Whoooeee! I mean to tell you, she had every man in the place swelling...”

     “It wasn’t Danine!”

     “Never said it was,” Jonathan said, turning his attention to the stage.

     “She had dark hair?”

     “Dark as the Core.”

     “How would you know how dark the Core is?” Dubonnet’s eyes had grown cold.

     “Hey, I’ve been there.” Leaning closer, Jonathan confessed, “Just between you and me, I’m probably one of the few operatives who have. Priority Double-A—straight to Thinker himself.” Now he left a pregnant pause. “I’ve done several jobs for Thinker.”

     “You?” Now the Cajun seemed to regard the other anew, as Jonathan still watched the dancer’s moves. “But perhaps that explains much, indeed.’

     “How else you think I knew about New City?”

     “Thinker sent you? For what purpose?”

     “Now what do you think, Cajun?” Jonathan coldly replied, turning toward him, eyes narrowed and his jovial manner becoming serious.

     “To observe Danine?”

     The man, known here as Darnell, answered in a voice barely above a whisper. “Part of it. Wanted me to get some firsthand data on Vera Four, too.”

     “Of course, naturally it would.” Turning his attention to the stage Dubonnet took another long drag on his Dreamstick.

     “Where’d ya get the cells, Dub?”

     The swarthy operative jerked his head in Jonathan’s direction and whispered, “Thinker told me where they’d be.”

     “That’s not what I was told.” Now Jonathan leaned closer to distraught the man more. “Thinker told me you stole ‘em, so you could make yourself a bedmate, said you didn’t have authority to use any of the cells, said you didn’t get them all, though.

     “I took only what I was told to. It had a plan to infiltrate and destroy New City DS, make it obey.” His eyes widened. “Why would I try to trick Thinker? All these years, I’ve served only Thinker—without question, going where It told me, doing what It told me to do. I live only to serve Thinker, Darnell. Doesn’t it know that?”

     “Maybe,” Jonathan said, “just maybe.” That said, he rose and left, leaving the Cajun staring at the bar table’s grained surface and hearing him say, “She can’t be doing those things. She was programmed only to seduce Ballard. She couldn’t be...”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Eighteen

 

     A week later, Jonathan met with Francis at the med-tech’s unit in Shreveport and told him of his conversation with Dubonnet. “You should have seen him squirm, and it wasn’t long before he was calling wanting to meet up with me. To convince me of his innocence, I imagine. So far, I’ve given him excuses, but next time he’ll have the pleasure of my company and I’ll get the location out of him. How’s your research going?”

     The man known by many names throughout the years, but now again called Francis, took a sip of amber liquid from the glass he held and sat beside Jonathan. “There seems to be only one md-tech who’s worked on the creation of Danine. Other three have either gone Lastday or been transferred. None of them know where the cells came from and figured by the usual route in-city from Citizens. They did report an accelerated growth medium, but it was the only thing different, and they were given the formula for it by Dubonnet.”

     Francis leaned back and took another sip, and then another before he spoke again. “There’s something else, too. When the cells were brought to them, they had instructions for removing certain chromosomes and replacing them with specific ones from other, foreign cells.”

     Jonathan intently regarded the older man, as he finished his drink but could see there was more he’d say. “What is it? What other cells?”

     “They weren’t certain exactly what they were or what traits the chromosomes governed, but were certain of one thing.”

     “And it?”

     “They weren’t human.”

     “And I wonder whose idea that was? I doubt Dubonnet has the intelligence to comprehend even the basics of genetic engineering, unless I’ve totally misjudged him.” Jonathan scratched his head. “He said, ‘all those years I’ve served Thinker’...”

     “What?”

     “All those years... He said, all those years he’d served Thinker—without question, going where It told him... I wonder how many years, how many places, and what he’s done in Thinker’s employ.”

     “So, do I, Jonathan, so do I.”

 

     _So, this was Sim-Kill,_ Danine thought as she faced the darkened course ahead, a Flamegun being put into her hand. She checked the charge. Full. Dubonnet had described it to her, of course. Not at all like Shreveport’s DS weapon, he’d said. But his detailed description had gone into her memory and become part of her. She handled the Gun, as if she’d done it all her life.

     Clipping it on her belt, she looked up to the observation deck, where two figures stood—a man and a woman, she could see, one light, one dark. But, at this distance, it was impossible to tell if one was Ballard.

     She grinned, hoping it was him. She’d show him how good she was and let him see firsthand, instead of getting the report from some unbiased imbecile Regular.

     A buzzer sounded just second after she’d heard the room’s door close and Danine took off, stalking down the black corridor, Runners and Rebels lying in wait, some blinking, some suspicious. She couldn’t waste innocent Citz, only guilty ones or those obviously on Lastday and acting panicky. They weren’t real, of course, only androids or holos, but—

     The first Runner darted out of a side doorway, lifeclock glinting red-black. She fired, unclipping and aiming in a fraction of a second. Rules said you must re-clip after each termination, but she wasn’t sure this Runner had truly been terminated, and cautiously approached the area he’d been. Her com bleeped.

     Unclipping it, she brought it up to her face. RUNNER. 100 MTRS EAST. ABANDON PRESENT SEARCH AND PROCEED. East was to her right, down another, more well-lit corridor. Checking her rear with Gun in hand until safely away, she travelled on as directed.

 

     “Well, you’ve seen her first kill. What do you think?”

     Vera turned from the window and looked at the Primary. “What do I think? What do _I_ think?”

     “Yeah,” he repeated, pale brows knotting together. “What do you think? If I didn’t want your opinion, why would I ask you to come?”

     “You want an honest answer?”

    “Of course.”

     “I think you’re blind, stupid, and just plain Y-chromosome ignorant!”

     “What?” Ballard said, hands on hips.

     “You heard.” Now she turned back to the window.

     “Maybe you’re the one who’s blind and stupid, Vera. She’s a damn good Sandlady trainee. You saw her stats, her—“

     Oh, yes,” she answered, turning to face him, “I saw her stats. But, what’s more important, I saw her. Evidently, you still can’t.”

     Ballard took her by the shoulders, his huge hands digging into her flesh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

     She stared at him and then his hands on her arms, making him release her. “Have you looked at her, Ballard, really looked at her?”

     “I have.”

     “And?”     

     “And she’s beautiful.”

     “More than beautiful?”

     “Sure!”

     “Remind you of anyone in particular?”

     Ballard looked at Vera queerly. “No...”

     Vera threw her hands in the air, exclaiming, “I give up! She has absolutely mesmerized you.”     

     “What?”

     “Ballard, she’s enough like me to be my twin sister. Can’t you see it?”

     “I—“

     “Bal,” she started then stopped, walking about the small room and muttering to herself in Meldanan. He picked up on it immediately.

     Reaching out a hand to stop her pacing, she turned to him, as he mouthed a single word, one she’d not heard in five years.

     She nodded then put a finger to her lips to silence him, while sending him a mental message, instead. Then she quietly said, “You want my opinion, Ballard?”

     “Yes, I do,” he answered with a bit more respect than he’d shown anyone in the last months.

     “Send her back. Send her back before...before you do something you’ll regret!”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

     Ten days after Jonathan’s arrival in Shreveport, he heard the buzz of his unit, announcing a visitor. “Come on in, Dub. Been expecting you. Drink?” he said raising his own.

     Dubonnet shook his head in response. “I want to talk, Darnell. Privately. Somewhere,” he said glancing about the room, “somewhere less...”

     Jonathan nodded, getting the drift. “I think you need a walk, friend. Mind if I join you?”    

     Again, Dubonnet shook his head. “Good idea. I think I could use a nice, long walk.”

    

      Sandmen knew of very private places in less than private cities, places no one else knew of, not even other Sandmen. It was one of these where Dubonnet relaxed and was finally able to speak.

      Danine,” he said, his accent suddenly gone.

     “Figured that’s what this was about.” Sitting on the cold concrete floor of the mazecar sidetrack, Jonathan waited. It wasn’t for long.

     “You did think it was her, didn’t you?”

     Jonathan sighed. The poor bastard was really hung up on her. “Yeah, I did but couldn’t say for sure.”

     “I want to go to New City and see for myself.” Before Jonathan could answer, he went on, “I know that not easily accomplished: the clearance, the paperwork, and then Thinker seems to want me here—that would have to be reconciled.”

     “Things can be arranged, my friend, for a price.” Cool grey eyes met uneasy dark ones.

     “Anything, I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want to know.”

     The cells. Thinker wants me to take them. Where did you put the container?”

     “Back where I got them. I only took—“

      Jonathan half-laughed. “Man if you’re going to keep lying to me, forget ever seeing that sweet piece of ass, again. I mean, I’ve had it, and Thinker isn’t going to think too kindly of you, after the way you’ve screwed things up and all.”

     “I’m telling the truth, Darnell,” he said, kneeling down beside him with sweat pouring down his cheeks—or was it tears? “Why won’t you, why won’t He believe me?”     

     “Hey, I only do what He tells me, ask the questions, get the answers. Maybe if you showed me where they are...”

     “That’s it! Thinker got confused on where the cells were. They’d been moved, you know. They were in New City, but He told me to move them nearly a year ago.”     

     “Thinker doesn’t get confused.”

     “Darnell, I can show you where they are. Just get the clearance for me, and I’ll show you. Hell, friend, you like New City, why don’t you go with me?”

     Jonathan regarded the Thinker-agent silently. “And the cells?”     

     “I’ll take you to them on the way.”     

     “Where? Specifically, where?”

     “Victoria Station.”

     “I see.”

     “You know the place? Dubonnet seemed to grow suspicious. “A real Thinker-agent would be very familiar with Victoria Station...and the House....”

    Jonathan saw him scrutinizing his face for a reaction and provided it. He didn’t say a word, because he did know of the House and thought himself the only one who did. Now delving into Dubonnet’s mind he heard, _“Hell, I’ll give him the dammed cells and good riddance. I only want Danine and Thinker could go to Hell, too. I can easily disappear, just like the House.”_

     “Is it a deal?” he finished, reaching out his hand.

     Darnell fixed his eyes on the others and thrust his own hand into the Cajun’s. “A deal!”

 

 

     That same night, only later, the Matriarch visited Francis. Jonathan had already reported that he and Dubonnet would be going to New City, so their work was finished in Shreveport. Therefore, he suggested it might be expedient to affect his own transfer to New City, as well.

     One of the first things Vera told Francis was of her discussion with their son, during Danine’s Sim-Kill trial.

     “He really couldn’t see the resemblance?”

     She shook her head.

     “Maybe he’s in love with her,” Francis suggested, bringing his own love closer.

     I’ve heard of men falling in love with women like their mothers, but this is going too far.”

     Francis laughed and kissed her cheek. “Well, I think you gave him the right advice, even if it

was a bit emotional. All we can do is hope he’ll take it. How are things going, otherwise?”

     Vera looked at him, eyes glowing strongly. “Did you know Baltzegar One?”

     “Sure, back after you left the City, he emerged from practically nowhere out of the trainee ranks and, after the Great Calamity, became a top Sandman.”

     “From nowhere?” she mused aloud.

     “ Seems like it, anyway.”

     “And Baltzegar Two is his clone?”

     Francis leaned back into the cushions of his sparse med-tech unit. “Let’s see. First heard of him about, oh, ten years ago. He was a Yellow, D-level trainee.”

     “And when did Baltzegar One go Lastday?”

     “That same year, I guess.”

     Vera turned away, reflecting. “Do you realize if Balt One went Lastday ten years ago, it would have made him, at the very outside, only eleven when Balt Two was cloned?”

     “What’s so unusual about that?”

     “Only mature adults are used as cell donors.”

     “Hmm.”

     “Furthermore, I’m not sure med-techs twenty years ago knew much about cloning—at least not enough to harvest cells from an immature individual. After all, it was only the year before they cloned me to make Vera Four..”

     “Something’s very strange.”

     Snuggling closer, she answered, “Very strange, indeed. I think it’s time I delved deeper into Baltzegar Two’s dreams.”

 

     Early that night, she returned to his unit in New City, to touch his mind with her own mind-essence and invade the realm of his dreams and memories. But this time, she went deeper than before, placing herself in his frame of reference and seeing the memories through his eyes and beheld memories older than him, older than the City of Domes, itself, beyond the Little War into the Twentieth Century world of a large metropolitan city on the plains of what was then northcentral Texas.

     He was in a research laboratory, people in white coats bent over microscopes or desks studying or conversing with each other. A dark-haired man was approaching and put his arm about his (?) waist, no _her_ shoulders. Vera definitely had the sensation of being in a woman’s body. Her mind’s eyes sweeping down the front of the lab coat covering that body, she could see the proof. Yes, a woman’s body. She looked up at the man, trying to bring his face into focus. She heard a voice, her own.

     “Francis, don’t, not here.” The man was kissing her neck and laughing then raised his head and looked at her, smiling.

     “Francis!”

     Vera’s mind jolted out of the dream-memory and back to the reality of the present.

     Francis? Then?  And Baltzegar’s origin that of a woman, not a man? She’d not totally withdrawn from the man’s mind with her training instinctively preventing such a shock to her victim’s system, so returned to the past.

     The man had left with a wink, and she reached down, opening a drawer in the work table, where she withdrew a small hand mirror and held it up to adjust her slightly mussed hair—dark hair, fair skin—rather short-fingered, small hand smoothing the hair pulled back from a pretty face, features, if one looked closely, much like Baltzegar’s, much like...

    Vera drew back from her host’s viewpoint and looked at the woman from farther away. Could it be she was as “blind” as her son? That she really had never realized the resemblance? Until this moment?

     _She’s enough like me to be my twin_ , her mind whispered. Didn’t she say the same thing to Ballard about Danine?

     Ever so slowly, Vera withdrew from Baltzegar’s mind, surrendering him to his dreams, while she contemplated what she’d seen.

     His origin. Her origin.

     Perhaps, her own origin.

     Beside her, Balt tossed restlessly, his skin wet with perspiration eyes screwed to tight slits, and his breathing becoming increasingly heavy and irregular, like one deeply frightened.

     She reached out to touch him, and he awoke with a start, sitting up, wide-eyed, and looking at her with a question in his eyes.

     “You were having a nightmare,” she said.

     He rubbed his head with the palms of his hands. “Yes...I was.”

     “Would you like to tell me about it?”

    He still breathed more rapidly than normal but tried to control it. “There was a...lab, whatever that is...and a man, no, men.” His head dropped. “They were arguing about something I couldn’t understand. And then they looked at me like they wanted to kill me.”

     “And then?” she asked, stroking his temple.

     “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “It was cold, terribly cold, and dark. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I’ve never known such darkness, or such terrible cold. I was alone and had such an overwhelming feeling of...”

     “Total loneliness?”     

     He looked at her amazed. “Yes, loneliness.”     

     “You’ve had this same dream before, haven’t you?”

     “Ever since I can remember.”

     “And when you awake, the loneliness is still there?”

     “Yes, and sometimes the cold. It takes hours to get over the cold.”

     “I know.”

     “You know?”

     She looked at him, tears in her eyes, as she buried her head on his chest and held him close. “I’ve had the same dreams.”


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

 

     Days passed, days which seemed like decades to the agents in both New City and Shreveport, and the others involved in the peculiar tangle of events. But it would all come to a close, soon, in a rather odd set of circumstances—a chain of events so bizarre, unpredictable, and so far-reaching relatively few would or could survive. But then, there is more than one meaning to survival.

     When Dubonnet and Darnell’s mazecar slid to a softly hissing stop at Victoria Station it was a night much like another at that historical spot. Unknown to the two agents and probably ninety-nine percent of the area’s population in the protectively domed cities, a monumental hurricane was building to peak force a few hundred miles to sea. Yet its outlying, offshore winds were a scant dozen kilometers from this very spot. But for these two men, they experienced only a high wind blowing about bits of trees and forest rubble along with equally annoying sheets of intermittent rain.

     Stepping out of the station’s shelter and into this decidedly inclement weather, they made a mad dash down the trail, fighting off the airborne flotsam, as they ran two hundred yards to the small clearing, where the House invisibly sat, waiting their arrival.

    Dubonnet reached it first, stretching out a hand to open the door then jerking it quickly away. He’d wait for the other, who came a few seconds behind, and let him prove his knowledge of the House, instead. He still didn’t trust him.

     Suddenly, Darnell was there and, without hesitation, palmed the invisible door and entered, leaving the Cajun to follow behind. _The man’s a fool,_ Darnell said to himself. _Can’t trust anyone. So let him get soaked._

   But Dubonnet didn’t wait for long and came inside, shaking the water out of his straight hair and rumpled clothes. “What say we process some new Citz-skins and get out of these?” he said, walking toward the processor slot. “We’ll need them for New City, at any rate.”

     Taller and more muscular, Darnell grumbled agreement, trying to appear oblivious to his own dampened apparel, because his mind was occupied elsewhere, checking the message center for news from the Moon and Sanctuary II. Even if the Cajun saw the screen, Darnell doubted he could read its contents. Meldanan wasn’t easily learned by outsiders.

     As he sensed Dubonnet approached with a new set of dry citizen apparel, he heard him think, _Man’s certainly made himself at home. Probably been here more often than me._ Smiling to himself at the others thoughts, Darnell reached back for the clothes and laid them beside the console then began stripping off his wet DS skins, all the while reading the screen’s output.

    Now Dubonnet went to the other side of the room and changed into his own clothes, while Darnell/Jonathan heard, _“There aren’t that many Thinker-agents, but it would explain Darnell’s erratic and decidedly superior behavior. Thinker agents had to be in control of their environment, as well as themselves. They couldn’t let people run their lives, couldn’t get involved, or they became too susceptible. And Thinker didn’t like that. Thinker liked things just the way they were, the way they’d been for years...Its way.”_

    

     “Penny for your thought,” Jonathan said.

     “What?” the Cajun replied, looking into Darnell’s hard features above the skin-tight Citz Red with its deeply cut front, showing off the man’s well-developed pectorals.

     “That’s what they used to say before the Little War, isn’t it?”

     “How would I know.”

     “Don’t guess you would.” The big Sandman walked away toward the House’s only other room, a room with a shiny durosteel table, dangling with restraint straps and seemingly endless lines of tubes arranged overhead. On the opposite wall, plasticene cabinets contained a myriad of bottles and jars with a wide diversity of colored liquids and pills within them.

     “That’s where I found her,” Dubonnet softly said, following Darnell to the doorway.

     Without turning, the other asked, “Who?”

     “Vera Four, the Sandlady from New City.”

    “How’d you know she was here?”

     “Thinker sent me a message in Shreveport.”

     Darnell was quiet a moment then said, “You’re the one who found her.”

     “Yes.”

     “That’s...interesting.” As the words finished Dubonnet noticed Darnell regarding the rumpled cover atop the table, the strained area of weakness on the restraint straps and the hastily removed IVs.

     “Why do you say it’s interesting?” Dubonnet asked, bringing back the man’s attention.

     Darnell turned, his dark-brown face paler than normal and features set with a threatening tightness. Then he looked straight into Dubonnet’s eyes, a look the Cajun had seen before and feared, one which presaged an angry outburst. But Darnell’s tone was calm and soft. “Because I put her there, that’s why. Now, where are those cells? We need to get to New City by tonight, latest.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 

     As Vera Four and Baltzegar Two walked early morning patrol along the now uncrowded concourse of Arcade, a Red stumbled in their direction, obviously hungover from a late night at Hallucimill or one of the other numerous lift joints.

     Balt grabbed up the man as he veered into their path, bringing him up short, as he lifted him by the neck of his tunic to see his face. Bleary, hazel eyes jerked first from the Sandman then to Vera, resting on her, his eyes clearing for a fraction of a second, but long enough.

     “High night, huh, fella?” Baltzegar said, laughing.

     The Citz’s eyes popped back to the Sandman. “Yeah, some ReLive!”

     “ReLive, huh? Don’t recall seeing you around before. What’s your name, friend?”

     The citizen slumped a bit, enough that both Vera and Balt had to lift him back up again. “Name...” His head dropped, rolling over to one shoulder, eyes drooped closed then opening and blinking. “M’ name?”

     “Yeah, your name,” Balt said, laughing again, while Vera tried her best to suppress her laughter.

     “Oh! Name’s Shelton. Shelton...” A hand came up and scratched an already rumpled head of dark brown hair. “Four, that’s it! Shelton Four’s m’ name.”

     Even though the Red tried to steady himself, the Sandman kept his hands on the man’s arms, in case he still needed support. “What quad?”

     “Wha...,” the citizen mumbled, looking lazily from Vera to Balt and back again to Vera. By now, she could barely contain her laughter and that seemed to please the man enormously, as he broke into a radiant grin and turned directly to Baltzegar. “Quad R, Sector Eight.”

     A stifled giggle escaped Vera’s throat.

     Balt grinned himself. “Okay, then, why don’t we just put you in a ‘car for your quad, so you can—“

     “No!” the citizen interrupted, fighting off Balt’s hands and tumbling backward until he slammed into a stone bench, feeling behind him with his hands and sitting. “No, gonna wait right here ‘til the shops open and I can get me some ‘dote. Shit, they’re respons’ble. They oughta get me straight, again, don’tcha think?”

     “Sure, fella,” Balt said with another laugh. “Take a nap in the meantime, though, will you?” Taking Vera’s arm, he steered her past the Red, who’d already stretched out on the bench.

     “Sounds like a good idea,” he was mumbling.

     For a brief second as they passed the man, Vera turned back to look at him one last time. It was a very sober eye which gave her a crafty wink, one she returned with a fleeting, but very

loving, smile.

 

     Here, the cells are here,” Dubonnet said, leading Darnell to a small oval tile in the patterned floor.

     “Get it out,” the other ordered, standing above the Cajun where he knelt.

     Taking a small knife from his wrist band, Dubonnet pried the tile loose and slid it heavily to one side. Where the tile had been, a hole appeared, about six-inches wide and indeterminably deep. But less than a foot or two down, sat something shiny, filling it, and the men laid flat on the floor to reach it.

     Bringing the long cylindrical vessel into the room’s light, it seemed to emerge like a ghost from the grave, inch by inch until the entire two feet of its length was above and resting on the floor beside him.

     “There it is, just like I said.”

     Darnell took a step forward for a better look. “Open it.”

     The Cajun removed the lid carefully, as Darnell/Jonathan withdrew a sheet of paper from his tunic.

     “I’ve got the names here of all those whose cells should be in there,” he said, “and how many vial of each. So, if any are missing, I think you know what will happen, don’t you?”

     Dubonnet blanched. He had no idea how many vials were in this thing. Only Thinker knew that...Thinker and, now, Darnell. What the Hell was he dealing with here?

     “I only know I haven’t taken anything but what Thinker told me. If there’s any discrepancy—“

    “If there’s any discrepancy, you’re a dead man. Open it, NOW!”

     The lid popped off the sealed container and, a tray at a time, Dubonnet removed the cells, reading out the names as Darnell seemed to check his list and looked down as if to confirm the Cajun’s words and count for himself the number of vials and the names on them, until the last tray had been removed and the container was empty.

     “Well?” Dubonnet asked when the last tray had been replaced and the container returned to its hiding place.

     “Two short.”

     “But—“

     “The two you removed at Thinker’s orders.”

     Dubonnet relaxed in relief.

     Now the other Sandman crossed to a chair and sat down, regarding Dubonnet, who still sat on the floor. “How long you been a Thinker-agent?”

     He rose and went to the drink dispenser, emptying the first glass and punching up a refill before answering. “Twenty years of so. I was just Green.”

     “So, you’re past Renewal, then.”

     “Most agents are. Comes with the territory. What about you?”

     Darnell didn’t answer and, instead, asked another question. “What’s your origin?”

     “Where’m I from?” Dubonnet asked, finishing off the second drink.

     “If you want.”

    “Chicago Dome. Up—“

     “I know where it is.”

    Dubonnet turned back to Darnell. “Maybe it’s time for you to answer my questions. I’m getting a bit sick of yours.”

    “The skunk turns to attack,” Darnell muttered.

     “What was that remark?”

     “Nothing, just talking to myself,” he said with a grin.

     “So, how long have _you_ been a Thinker-agent, and where are _you_ from?”

     The other Sandman’s grin broadened—a predatory grin. “You wouldn’t believe where I’m from. As for the other...” He shifted, dangling a leg over the chair arm and feeling for the Gun inside his tunic. “I’m not a Thinker-agent.”

     “Not an agent?”

     “Nope.”

      Dubonnet was now totally confused. “But how—“

     ‘I’m an agent from somewhere else, someone else, someone bigger than Thinker.”

     Dubonnet approached him slowly, body bent in a stalking posture. “Who—are—you?”

     “Little ole me?” Darnell asked, seeing the man’s hand feel for his own hidden weapon.

     “Yeah.”

     “It really doesn’t matter, does it?” Finger closed around cold steel, only slightly warmed by his body heat. “We are what we are. You don’t give a damn about Thinker, anymore. All you want is a certain piece of fem-flesh, and Thinker be damned!”

       Darnell’s cool eyes watching the others for reaction, he saw uncertainty then the sudden flash of an idea, which he quickly squelched. “You can’t return to Shreveport. I made sure of that before we left. You’ll never be a Sandman, again, either, as if you wanted.” The other man took a step backward, hesitant. “I’m the only one who can get you what you want, so you’d better get you hand off that fancy Gun of yours or will never live to see Danine again.”

     Lean hand dropped from behind Dubonnet’s back, and Darnell’s emerged from his tunic with his Gun.   “You gave me what I wanted, so I’m going to help you get what you want. But, from now on, I call the shots. Understood?”

     The Cajun’s head nodded. “Understood.”

     “Fine. Now, let’s get out of here before this storm gets any worse.”

 

    Logan had been watching Vera for some time, secretly trailing her when Balt was elsewhere, watching where she went, who she saw, who she talked to, and trying his damnedest to get something on her he could report back to Balt and renew his trust so they could be friends again—and something which would get Vera out of both their lives. And tonight seemed to be the one which would see the perfect Sandlady’s undoing.

    She was about fifty feet ahead, heading through the door of Love Shop, wearing Citz-garb---and without Balt. She’d tried to disguise herself, but he knew it was her. And, as soon as he had her with the goods, he’d call Balt in for the kill.

     Hurrying to catch up, so he wouldn’t lose her in the Shop’s crowd and its variegated darkness, Logan entered just in time to see her vanish through a back door. Minutes after using the same exit, he heard her voice and that of a man down the long UnderCity corridor.

     “Patch me in to Balt’s unit,” he whispered into his com.

     “Balt, Logan here. I’m UnderCity, just down from the back door of Love Shop. Get here as quick as you can.” He paused, dramatically. “I think Vera’s hurt.”

     And, by the increasing amount of moaning and groaning going on beyond him, it could be the case.

     Balt was there five minutes later. “Where is she?” he anxiously asked.

     Logan shushed him. “Keep your voice down. She’d just there. Hear her?”

     Balt listened, hearing the same moans and groans Logan had minutes before and recognized the familiar sounds. She was anything but hurt! Slowly and quietly the two men worked their way down the corridor and around the corner.

     “Oh, Francis!” It was Vera’s voice.

     “There’s no Francis in the city—hasn’t been for years,” Logan whispered. Both men drew their Guns and edged closer.

     What they saw next was a naked man and woman lying together atop a pile of clothes on the cold cement floor, clutching each other in the throes of sexual ecstasy.

     “You bitch!” Balt roared, levelling his Gun at her then moving it to the man. “You won’t do anything but soothe and cuddle with me but then go off and do...this! HOW?” His anger rapidly slowing, the hurt became increasingly evident in his eyes, and Vera saw tears starting to stain his cheeks in the dim light.

     “Balt, I—"

    “No,” he cried. “Don’t try to explain it. It won’t help. I thought we had something special, something which didn’t need sex. I thought you were happy with things that way. That, in time, you and I could share...more, and you simply weren’t ready for...but guess I was wrong. You weren’t as wrought over Jonathan’s death as you’d have me believe.”

     “Balt, please, you’ve got to listen. We did have something special, but Francis—"

     “Shut up, slut!” Logan yelled, levelling his Gun at the two. He’s through with you, aren’t you, Balt?”

     “I...”     Logan glanced at his old friend. “Balt?”

     The other Sandman shook the tears from his eyes, as Logan watched him gain composure. And, it was in those scant seconds Francis reached under the clothing on the floor and withdrew Vera’s Flamegun then raised it and fired.

     Logan screamed, his body slamming into the wall, but not before his own Gun had fired, killing Francis.

     Startled, Vera turned to her pair-mate just as he slumped against the wall behind her. “Francis!”

    “Vera, I didn’t shoot him.”     “I know you didn’t, Balt,” she said, tears welling into her eyes as she stroked back the hair from Francis’ forehead. But it was too late. Everything was over. She’d never know his touch again, his voice, his laughter and already could feel his soul leaving his cold body. The man known long ago and in the history books as Ballard Two was dead.

     “Get dressed,” Balt was saying, handing her a uniform.

     “Why’d you bring this?” she said, taking it.

    “I found it on the floor just before Logan’s message came in. I absently stuck it in my pouch, I guess, when I took off.” He shifted his weight uneasily as he watched her dress. “Look, Logan’s dead and so is your lover. No one knows about this but us.”

     “Balt, I really can explain.”

     “No, I don’t want to know. We can still go on...make something of our relationship, can’t we? We don’t have to let this split us up.”

     “Balt,” she said, pulling on her boots, the one part of her uniform she’d worn with her citizen

disguise, “you must listen. I’m not who you thought I was. I’m not Vera Four.”

     “Of course you are.”

     “No, I’m Vera Three...and that man was may pair-mate Francis Seven.”

     Balt fiddled with his Gun. “Francis Seven’s been dead for over twenty years and so’s Vera Three. You can’t be—"

     “But I am.”

     “No, it’s not possible.”

     But before she could respond, his com demanded attention.

     “Runner, female, Arcade,” he read aloud off the Follower screen then looked at the Sandlady. “It’s Danine.”

    “Danine. You’re sure?”

     He showed her the screen, and she looked up at him. “Better us than someone else, I suppose.” She wiped the moisture from her face, checked her Gun, so recently held by the great Ballard Two and, taking a last look back at the two cold bodies, said, “Let’s go.”

     “Vera,” Balt said, holding her back a second longer, “I don’t know whether you’re Three or Four or nothing at all. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s one thing I’m absolutely positive about—you’re a damn good Sandlady, no matter what your name is.”

     She felt a tear creeping into her left eye, as she replied, “Thanks, Balt. Thanks a lot. That means a great deal.”

 

     Danine was frightened, an emotion she’d never known until leaving Ballard’s office a few hours ago. Primary Ballard Three, head of DS, the man with the power of life and death over DS itself and all involved in it.

     Return to Shreveport, that’s what he’d said. We don’t want you, is what he hadn’t said. Hadn’t needed to. There was no reason for her dismissal otherwise. Her Sim-Kill score was exceptional, and her other stats were excellent. He didn’t want her—that was the truth of the matter.

     She’d left the office deeply depressed, wandering the streets and malls of New City. She didn’t want to go back to Shreveport or to Dubonnet, for that matter. If Danine couldn’t have Ballard, she didn’t want any man. Except now she was lost, as lost as a person can be. She didn’t know where she was. All she knew was she wanted to find Ballard to talk him into letting her stay as a citizen, if nothing else. There was nothing left—and now she was lost. She hated being lost, the horrible feeling of disorientation it gave you, the sensation of not having control over what happened to you. And that’s where fear crept in, a fear which made things loom larger and darker than reality, a fear which made sense of nothing—taking hold of your brain and compressing it into an unthinking, blind organ with no semblance of rationality.

     The Arcade which had only recently been brilliantly lit, each shop with its own unique marquee, was now simply a tear-streaked blue or other color whirling in front of her eyes, ones widened with confusion, unhappiness, depression, and increasing desperation. Inside her body, Danine could fee her heart pounding in her chest and head. Outside, her limbs dangled limply at her sides, wet with fright-sweat.

     There were so many people—faceless people--pushing her, bumping into her, staring at her. So many strangers. So many who didn’t want her here.

     “Oh, Ballard, why?” she whimpered.

 

      Ballard had monitored the Runner Call sent to Balt and Vera and had immediately left for Arcade. It was all his fault. He should have let her down more gently. It was his fault she was running.

     “It’s here, Darnell. It’s Danine!”

     “Where?” the dark-skinned man asked, trying to follow Dubonnet’s excited gaze. Then he saw her—and two black shapes—approaching from the left and another, single one, from behind. The Cajun saw it too.

     “Do they think she’s a Runner?”

     “What do you think? Look at her. It’s classic.”

     “But why?” Dubonnet asked, already drawing his Gun and beginning to make his way through the crowd towards her. Darnell could only follow.

     As they drew closer, he could see the features of the three Sandmen—or two Sandmen and a Sandlady: Ballard Three, Baltzegar Two and Vera Four. “Great,” he uttered under his breath and drew his own Gun.

    

     “Runner!” a male voice boomed.

     Danine froze, the crowd once protecting her from their view now rapidly melting away as they recognized her for what she was. _Even they knew_ , she thought. She’d heard a Sandman could smell a Runner but didn’t know citizens were so responsive to a Runner’s presence. She hugged a marble and chrome column and watched the two closest DS approach.

 

     Noticing Danine was crying, Vera felt pity for her. Somehow the girl knew how this night would end, the same as she did. And it made the Sandlady stop in her tracks for a brief moment and shudder.

     “Runner,” she said more gently than Balt had. “We know you’re scared. You’re too young to Run. Surrender yourself, and we can help you.”

     Vera’s partner looked at her, hardly believing his ears. Sure, it was a Sandman’s prerogative to offer amnesty, but he’d never heard of it being done.

     “You’re the Sandlady called Vera Four, aren’t you?” Danine sobbed out. “They say you’re a good person, that you don’t terminate citizens like some Sandmen do, playing games.”

     Ballard had run up to join the other DS but now stopped, standing only a few feet behind the Runner. “You can stay, Danine.”

     “No!” The girl bolted, and Balt raised his Gun to fire a warning shot, but, instead, a shot came from the crowd—a ripping Homer—leaving his chest a gaping hole as he stood for moment then crumpled.

     Vera stared at his chest in shock then looked to the crowd as a Red emerged shouting a them. Somewhere beyond him, she caught Jonathan’s signal and nodded.

   

     Danine had stopped and turned at the shot, recognizing the Homer’s sound as alien to New City. And, as she had, Ballard caught up with her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to safety as he drew his own Gun.

     “You bastards,” Dubonnet was yelling, coming towards the dead man and Vera, “trying to kill an innocent girl who’d no reason to Run. And you,” he said, pointing his Gun at Vera. But that was all he said, as another Gun roared, causing him to topple against her, bringing both of them to the ground.

     When Ballard saw Vera fall, he jumped out of hiding, thinking she was hurt, but not knowing Danine had suddenly discovered her outrage at Dubonnet’s death, until she raced past him, seizing his Flamegun and firing it in one motion at the red figure just outside the edge of the crowd, and a smoking Gun still in his hand.

     She missed her intended target but found another, instead. Amid the screaming of the onlookers, a citizen was down and Jonathan’s protective cover had vanished into the recesses of Arcade.

     “Get that Gun away from her!” Vera screamed at Ballard, trying to extract herself from beneath the second dead man.

     But, before the Sandman could reach her, Danine had fired again and Jonathan returned her fire, ducking and rolling a microsecond before the flame erupted over her head. Unfortunately, his aim had been much more accurate. Call it fate, call it the result of years of unerring, unconscious accuracy, but Danine was still dead.

     Seeing the two remaining DS were taking no action against the lone, armed citizen, the Arcade visitors started to come out of the niches and crannies to view the three dead bodies—a Sandman, a Red with a strange Gun, and a Sandlady trainee.

     Soon, more DS arrived, awaiting Ballard’s orders. They found their Primary standing by the kneeling Sandlady at the dead Baltzegar’s side. But Jonathan had disappeared into the crowd, never to be seen by New City again.

     “Go back to your duty stations,” Ballard told his men. “Everything’s over here. Send in clean up.” Then he turned to Vera. “You all right?” he asked, seeing the tears in her eyes.

     “Yeah, sure.” Over her shoulder she spoke to the slowly departing operatives. “Have clean up sent UnderCity behind Love Shop, too. There’s two dead there—Logan Six and...a Runner.”

     “Logan?” Ballard whispered.

     “Yes, and...your father,” she softly finished.

     “Francis?” he said in disbelief.

     She nodded, and he dropped to his knees, holding on to her rather than holding her. “Why?”

     “All things must eventually end.”

    “And now?”

     “Tomorrow you’ll find your sister’s body in the unit she shared with Balt Two. There, you’ll also find she took her own life in grief over his loss, so shortly after losing her first pair-mate, Jonathan.”

     “And me?”

     “You have your own destiny.”

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

     Some good did come of all the deaths in New City that day. With the ones of Danine and Baltzegar, two of Vera Chapman’s essences were released to the universe and thereby available to the Matriarch when she released her own from the synthaskin of Vera Four.

     What she discovered from these collective memories were the missing parts and confirmation of what she’d only guessed at before. Vera Long Chapman had many enemies in the science world, even among her own co-workers in the research lab, where she and her husband, Francis C. Ballard delved into the mystery of preserving human life at a suspended level of metabolism. But one night, she and Francis had been attacked in the lab and placed into the cryogenic containers used experimentally for large animals.

     In the meantime, the other scientists continued their experiments on them involving cloning. They never guessed the freezing hadn’t resulted in the couple’s death, as they’d hoped. So, hundreds of years later, Francis and Vera had been found and revived by Thinker-agents to become Vera One and Ballard One. The other cells preserved by the research team were also rejuvenated, the Vera cells being stored and the Francis ones used to begin a line of intelligent, caring policemen called the Data Squad—which included the Francis series, who’d eventually become Sandmen. Even more recently, the Vera cells had been used to make a male version—Baltzegar One and his successor, Baltzegar Two.

     There’d been other scientists, from that Twentieth Century research group, whose cells were discovered preserved. David Logan, Benjamin Gant, and even those of a young female assistant who Vera remembered simply as disappearing over a long work break, one year—Jessica Harper.

     But in the essences’ stories, Vera found an explanation for her own existence, too. In the Meldanan system there had never been a woman with her features, her essence, until she was born. The wise men said there’d been prophecies of her birth, however, ones millennium old in the universe of one who’d be born who’d never been, and become known across the entire starry span of space for her wisdom and ability to right every conceivable wrong. It would also be this one who’d become the first true leader of their people, a race not yet born, but one out of many races.

     Vera remembered the computer data Ballard had given Jonathan of Vera Chapman, whose body had been heavily radiated “at death” to produce a superspirit—perhaps a spirit capable of escaping Earth’s bounds and soaring across the continuum of space to a world light years away.

     Therefore, with the other two Vera essences, now nothing but formless fields of condensed energy, she said, “There is a favor I would ask of you.” I have a daughter-clone at Sanctuary. She’s a young woman but not especially strong and will soon conceive a child, but only if your essences combine to enter and strengthen her, because only then can I give my own spirit to her unborn. By doing this, we will all cease to exist in the plane but will live on in another individual. I cannot but ask this of you. It is your decision as the souls of Danine and Baltzegar.”

     The two essences shimmered in agreement and answered in unison, “We will strengthen your daughter-clone.”

     “Vera,” the essence of the man who’d been Baltzegar said, as they parted, “if I’d been a true man and not a part of the woman who began us both, could things have been different between us?”

     “We were as close as we were, because we were a part of her, Balt. Without that special rapport, I don’t know if we would’ve been together at all.”

 

     Visiting her son one last time, Vera found him lying alone in his bed and, on glittering into shape, sat beside him and told him her decision.

     “Which mean when I look at their daughter years from now, I’ll see you again?”

     “Yes.”

     “Mother, could you not exist a little while as you are at present. I’ve seen you so little these last years.”

     “Has it been years?” She smiled. “It seems like only days.”

     “Five years since he died.”

     “Five...?”

     Ballard nodded.

     “I miss him,” she said, “more because I know we’ll never be together again. It was a one in a million chance of our meeting even that once.”

     “Did you love him from the start?”

     “Oh, yes, but you know I was supposed to have ended up in Logan Five’s unit, not your father’s.

     “Logan? Oh, Mother, really!”

     She shifted her position and regarded the room—a room much like Francis’ in the City of Domes. “I have so many good memories of our times.”

     “And, when you become my sister’s child, you’ll lose those memories.”

     “But begin new ones. Is that so bad?”

     “No, I suppose not. I just wonder sometimes about what my memories will be hundreds of years from now.”

     Watching him lie there with eyes glazing over in a daydream of imagined memories, hands behind his head, she could tell he still ached over Danine’s death.

     “You’ll have good memories, I think. You’ve done a lot of good here, and when you leave will have your choice of assignments. Or, if you’d like, could even return to Meldana and settle down to—"  

     “To marry and have children?”

    “Perhaps. It’s not impossible, you know."

     “Perhaps.” He rolled away from her.

     “You’ll see.”

     “Mm.” When she didn’t answer he turned back, but she’d gone...this time for good. He remembered she’d always liked to sneak off that way then smiled, remembering the good times.

 

The End


End file.
